


Project Team Beta's SMUT University 2012

by philyra91



Category: Merlin (TV), The Host - Stephenie Meyer, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philyra91/pseuds/philyra91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a compilation of all my assignments for PTB's S-University 2012. Fandoms included are The Twilight Saga & The Host & Merlin & 2 original fiction pieces. </p><p>Pairings include:<br/>Emmett/Rosalie, Jasper/Alice, Edward/Bella and Carlisle/Esme<br/>Ian/Wanderer<br/>Gwaine/Morgana</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-assignment: For Providence Lights The Path to Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-assignment title: For Providence Lights The Path to Happiness
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Twilight
> 
> Pairing: Emmett/Rosalie, Human AU
> 
> Emmett McCarthy is a strictly blue-collar car mechanic who works 16 hours a day and is content with his lot in life. Rosalie Hale is the daughter of a wealthy oil tycoon and has everything she can possibly dream of. When providence steps in and gives them a little shove, who would have thought that the one thing that was missing from both their lives was each other?

Rosalie Hale, daughter of a wealthy oil tycoon, and Emmett McCarthy, son of a car mechanic, probably would never have met in their entire lives. She grew up in a house with maids and a butler, had her own debutante ball, attended parties every other night, and owned three properties, including a lake house, in her name. He graduated from high school, played college football and subsequently inherited _Ursidae Car Repairs_ from his father, working 16 hours a day. While he didn't lived from paycheck to paycheck, he was by no means affluent.

But as fate would have it, they met when Rosalie's red BMW, uncharacteristically and obstinately, broke down right in front of _Ursidae Car Repairs._ She came out of the car, five-inch stilettos first and all legs, to borrow a wrench from the shop after giving it a cursory look. The staff, so unaccustomed to having such ravishing beauty in the store, was too stunned to stop her. She simply walked right in and grabbed a wrench from the nearby workstation with nary a glance at anyone else. Emmett, who was grumbling about why no one was handing him the tools like he had asked, wheeled himself out from under a car and was equally taken aback at the beautiful, statuesque woman in his shop. He was neither a poet nor a playwright. He would never compose sonnets or even write a decent haiku but in that moment, he didn't think blue eyes could look that blue or that skin like hers could be that fair. He did, however, manage to regain his composure rather quickly and tried, in vain, to clean his oily, grimy hands on his overalls before offering it to her.

Her standoffish manner did not put him off, as one might expect, because after all, _Ursidae Car Repairs_ gets all sorts of customers every day. He was very much impressed by her knowledge of cars and when Rosalie failed to fix the BMW on her own, mostly because her tight dress didn't allow much room for bending and Emmett was too much of a gentleman to expose her to the lustful eyes of his staff, he offered his own expertise. After much bargaining, with mostly eye rolls and unimpressed shrugs from Rosalie, he was to bring the car back to the Hale compound in three days. He even managed to secure the possibility of a future date but no one knows if it was due to his charm, or sheer dumb luck.

That was two years ago.

Now, as they snuggled on the couch, she sitting between his legs, watching yet another mindless blockbuster movie, Rosalie couldn't help but think it as providence bringing them together. What if she had decided to take the Cadillac that afternoon? What if her car had broken down two blocks earlier or later? What if Emmett had taken the day off and left the store to his manager? What if he had thought her as another mindless bimbo that couldn't tell the difference between a car clutch and a clutch purse? What if her seemingly detached and unsociable manner had put him off?

It was not that she found him unattractive or unpleasant, even underneath all that filth and grime. Truthfully, something in her stirred when he started speaking. He had an easy disposition that made it very tempting for her to simply relax and let her guard down. But she had been cheated before, by men worth far less than her, wanting to get ahead in life using her good name. She was wary and somewhat fearful that such a friendly gentleman like Emmett could ever turn out to be one of those deceivers.

Their meeting simply had to be fate's doing, or at the very least, a really good string of happy coincidences.

Rosalie felt Emmett's hand move form rubbing her upper arm to clearing the hair from the back of her neck and it made her wonder how it was even possible to want someone like she wanted him. She wanted him all the time, anywhere, in every possible way. It wasn't like she was becoming more of a wanton but rather; Emmett was making her more self-aware of her sexuality and she couldn't be happier by this.

His lips were nice and warm on the crook of her neck and she smiled as she felt his breath gently caressing her skin. She murmured soft sighs of pleasure and he took it as a sign to carry on, his hands making their way under her shirt, growing bolder and bolder with each caress. The calluses on the bottom of his fingertips, formed from years and years of laboring as a mechanic, tingled the soft smooth skin of her abdomen. She remembered how when Emmett used to first touch her, he was constantly worried that his calluses made her uncomfortable, as if they were proof that a man of his station could never hope to attain a woman like her. He would always use the back of his hands to touch her, stroke her, brush against her until one night, she finally told him to touch her whichever way he liked because the calluses were turning her on. She spoke softly in his ear that it was _she_ who did not deserve him, the man who smoothed all her rough edges and made her want things outside of her privileged upbringing.

She leaned back, resting her head on her shoulder and he took the opportunity to kiss her from the neck to her earlobe. He knew that was always her weak spot and true enough, as his teeth lightly grazed the flesh there, he could almost feel her shudder in his arms. As his right hand traveled up her body, over her bra and his fingers rested gently around her neck, his left hand, quite deftly, unhooked the button of her cut-off jeans. He teased her a little, playing with her zipper for an unnecessarily long time, which lead to some soft-hearted whimpering from her. Just as she didn't think she could bear it any longer, he dipped his hand into her panties where she was starting to ache and his fingers began to gently rub against her.

Rosalie squeezed her eyes shut as her own hands held on to the only thing available, his pant leg, and gripped it so tightly that Emmett let out a muffled curse. He massaged her sex with slow movements that matched the movements of his mouth on her neck in their tempo and when she whispered, heavily and laboriously, that he better fuck her now or she was going to rip his head off, his hand slowly pulled away, much to her frustration and delight.

She quickly maneuvered herself to straddle him and in one quick stroke, pulled off the shirt she was wearing. She was trying to hike up Emmett's shirt as well when he said, "Rose, baby, slow down." She, loath to actually admit it, couldn't help but pout.

Her previous boyfriends, like her, had demanding jobs, and sex for them both was more of a quickie. It was, after all, hard to engage in hours upon hours of foreplay when your Blackberry was due to go off at anytime, alerting to yet another new email or meeting. So it came as a surprise when Emmett stopped her during their first sexual encounter when she was trying to finish him off with a blowjob after only fifteen minutes of fooling around. "Where I come from, we take things a little slow," he had said before proceeding to make her pant from the best kind of foreplay ever.

"Come on," she whispered into his ear and tugged on his shirt. Perhaps it was her crooked smile, or the glint in her eyes, but Emmett relented and let her pull off his shirt. But not one to let even his darling Rose best him at his own game, he caught her by surprise when he pushed her down to the couch. She let out a delighted squeal as she playfully slapped his shoulder.

He moved to hover over her and Rosalie's fingers went to tangle themselves in his curly brown hair. God, his beautiful, beautiful curly brown hair she hoped to see in their children someday. The first time she ever saw him bare-chested and on top of her, she found herself a little scared. It was obvious that he had the strength to do whatever he wanted with her. She had flashbacks to her own domineering father and meek mother. But Emmett was kind and gentle and patient and never once used his overpowering strength against her.

His head dipped to nuzzle her neck as her hands slid down and roamed the expanse of his back. She could feel his muscles rippling and tightening under her touch. She was aware of his hands being everywhere, rough calluses on smooth skin like coarse sand running against polished pebbles. He touched her shoulders, her arms, her curves, up and down her thighs, up and down, up and down and fondled the hell out of her butt. His mouth slowly moved downwards, licking and nuzzling all the way to her breasts. She reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, bearing herself to his sight.

In thanking her, she watched him envelop those glorious lips around her nipple and begin to suck. She bit her lips to stop herself from screaming as his hands went to cover her own restless ones positioned on her hips. He took more of her inside, and she moaned at the wet warmth that was his mouth. By the time he switched to the other breast, she was writhing underneath his body, murmuring a string of curse words. He paid homage to her like pagans worshipping their Gods. He smiled against the side of her breast and carried on torturing her. Her fingers tightened in his hair and for a second, he was worried if she'd ripped his hair out.

The fire in both their bodies were burning into an inferno and Emmett wasn't sure if his body could bear it for another moment. He kissed the small cluster of freckles Rosalie had just above her belly button as he pulled down her jeans not-too-gently and tossed it aside. As he hooked one finger around the band of her panties and dragged it down her thighs and then legs ever so leisurely and tortuously, Rosalie's breath hitched in her throat as she whispered, "Yes…" He could see that she was willing and she was ready for him.

With one last article of clothing separating them, Rosalie sat up and pulled Emmett towards her by his belt. With expert hands, she unclasped his belt and removed his pants in record time. Finally, it was just his boxers and when that too was gone, she took him in her mouth and grinned when he hissed and utter curses. His large hands went to encircle her head as she licked and sucked his way to pleasure. It wasn't long before he had to stop her, his palm grazing her cheek as he gently pulled himself away. He wanted to delay his pleasure just for a little while longer.

Both breathing heavily now, he moved between her legs, parting them and when he lifted her thigh, she hitched one leg on his waist and rose to kiss his cheek, telling him without words that she was ready. He kissed her back and for a moment, there was just the pressure of simply his lips on hers and then fullness. Rosalie moaned into their kiss as they moved against each other.

It was a tender and delicious taking. With each painfully slow thrust, he peppered her face, her neck and her breasts with kisses. She felt him nibbling on her skin, sucking on that spot where her shoulder met her neck. His hands were in sharp contrast to her tiny wrists, which he held high above her head as she writhed not-so-gently in his grip, relishing in the restraint. It sent a spine tingling chill through her that only temporarily tapered the blaze coursing through her veins. She felt him move against her, hips to hips, chest to chest, lips to lips.

She found herself vexed and oddly titillated with this aggravatingly unhurried form of fucking. No, it wasn't fucking, it wasn't even sex. This must be the most exquisite, pure, sexy kind of lovemaking there ever was. Even when she tried to increase the rhythm of their thrusts, Emmett would grasp her hips and slow them down once more. In her frustration, she turned to biting, though very lightly, his neck and shoulders and she smiled when her nails left scratches on his back and he let out a string of expletives.

Not wanting to be outdone, Emmett moved her hand to where they were joined and he leaned back on his knees, using the new position to thrust deeply. He wanted her frantic with desire and the resulting scream made him wonder if the neighbors could hear them. They were both oh-so-close in climaxing but neither wanted to be the first. Each relished seeing the other's pleasure on their faces before giving it to their own gratification.

His lips finally found their way back to hers and his tongue darted out just to nudge her bottom lip once. Her arms went around his neck as he gently parted her lips with his tongue and their tongues joined in a tantalizing and seductive frolic of their own. At long last, Emmett began to pick up speed with his thrusts and Rosalie, breathlessly and impatiently, matched him thrust for thrust. She continued to pulse around him and he knew that they were both very close to release.

Her mouth formed a wordless scream of his name as she contracted around him and he followed her into ecstasy within seconds. He collapsed on to her but he was careful to bear the weight on his forearms, yet when she pulled him against her, he willing followed. All that was heard of their labored breathing and the pounding of their hearts. The exertion had left them sweating and spent in a tangle of limbs but also, glowing and blissful. As the remnants of pleasured ebbed and flowed through their veins, he flipped them over so that she was lying on top of him.

"I love you," his voice of leaves and wind against her skin. "I love you."

Their paths should never cross, but when they came together like this, it couldn't be more right or more perfect.


	2. Assignment 1: Orange Sherbet and Lemon Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 1 title: Orange Sherbet and Lemon Kisses
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Twilight
> 
> Pairing: Jasper/Alice, Human AU
> 
> Assignment notes: Write a lemon using a Karma Sutra position you've never come across in a fic before
> 
> Author's note: The position I chose was The Love Seat
> 
> Mary Alice Brandon and Jasper Hale make a very odd couple, but that doesn't stop them from experimenting with crazy, sexy ideas to overcome their height difference. Could this be their best idea yet?

Mary Alice Brandon and Jasper Whitlock made an odd-looking couple. She came up to 4 feet and 10 inches and he towered over her at 6 feet 3 inches. They grew up in different neighbourhoods, did not attend the same school or even lived in the same district. They probably would have never met if it didn't happen to rain on a particular Monday morning and Jasper decided to wait it out in a diner on his way to the university.

He ducked into the quiet, nondescript establishment just as the skies threatened to flood the entire city block and tried to shake as much rain as he could from his hair and coat. He had not anticipated the downpour at all and without an umbrella, he found himself soaked in a matter of minutes. The owner took one look at him and ushered Jasper to a seat at the counter while he went to pour a cup of coffee for the drenched teenager.

Morning rush hour meant that all the seats in the diner were already taken save for the one next to a girl with short spiky black hair. As Jasper slid into the seat, apologetic and regretful that he was going to ruin the leather seating, he heard the girl say, "You've kept me waiting a long time."

Unaware that he had made any sort of prior engagement with _anyone,_ his gentlemanly instincts kicked in as he bowed his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

Mary Alice, or Alice as she preferred it, turned to face Jasper, startled to hear a response to her rhetorical statement. She had been expecting her cousin, who was already late for an hour. When she felt someone moving into the seat next to her, she had naturally assumed it was he and not this kind and gallant person.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I was expecting someone else," Alice apologized once she regained composure. A friendship was promptly ignited after the misunderstanding was sorted out and each bought the other their second cup of coffee.

It was not long before their friendship turned into a courtship. Jasper, a student of history and philosophy, found himself composing several, rather badly written, poems bespeaking of his affections for her and wondered if perhaps he should switch his major to literature. In turn, Alice would do her best to predict Jasper's class schedule in the hopes of surprising him for lunch. After several unsuccessful guesses that left Alice red-faced with embarrassment, Jasper felt sorry for her and secretly slipped his class schedule into her bag.

The months went by swiftly and the couple found more and more opportunities to be together, their relationship growing strength to strength. Jasper graduated with a double degree in history and philosophy and was hired by a museum near the outskirts of Philadelphia. He still found time to compose poetry, which never failed to make Alice laugh till her sides started to ache. It was after a session of poetry-reading where Jasper decided to read some rather risqué sonnets he found in his sister's room that Alice decided to have a little fun of her own and started undressing him as he read each line.

By the time Alice was done unbuttoning Jasper's shirt, he was breathing hard and not because he was turned on. He had not intended for Alice to see him in such a vulnerable state for without his shirt, his scars were on display for the world to see. An unfortunate incident as a child, where Jasper and his cousin got into a fight and crashed into a glass sliding door left his body covered in scars. They were spaced thickly together on his neck and was the reason why he always wore either a turtleneck sweater or high-collared shirts. He had yet to tell Alice about them for fear that they would terrify and scare her off. He could have stopped her from removing his shirt but he did not have the heart to disappoint her. It took great courage on his part not to shirk from her touch and when she ran her hands over his scars, he trembled, almost hesitant to believe that a girl like Alice was accepting of how he looked. "Your scars make you beautiful. It tells me of the road you took to get to where you are, to where _I_ am and I love you for it," she said.

They made love to each other slowly and passionately that night, both fully aware that their relationship was being taken to the next level. Jasper, a man who was uncharacteristically rude and threatening about his physical flaws, had finally allowed a woman into his heart long enough for her to see pass the imperfections of his body. In the same way, Alice found an anchor in her life. She was always known as the flighty one; the exuberant vivacity to her sister's gloomy disposition, but Jasper was someone who kept her grounded, a man who built the foundations for her castles in the air.

In the beginning, sex was very much of an emotional catharsis for Jasper as it was for Alice; the tangible demonstration of their love bringing them closer to one another than they ever thought possible. It was only after the psychological comfort they found in each other did they start to reap the physical pleasure as well. But it wasn't long before Alice found it disconcerting that she was always staring at Jasper's chest during their intimate moments and this was what led to their experimentation.

Their substantial height difference prompted rather creative ideas from the both of them. There was one occasion that had Alice sitting on top of the dishwasher, and another on top of a desk and even an embarrassing incident that involved Jasper's parents finding them in a tool shed with Alice sitting on top of a ladder.

Today was yet another opportunity for Alice to try out something she read on a website but as with most of her experiments, Jasper was apprehensive about this particular new trick she learned, particularly so soon after the mortifying business with his parents.

"And you're sure these _modifications_ you made are perfectly safe?" he asked as Alice pulled him into their bedroom by tugging on his shirt. He noticed a tray, covered by a kitchen towel, on top of their dresser and wondered what new shenanigans they were going to be up to tonight.

"They're not so much modifications as they are _additions_ ," she replied but as she watched Jasper raised his eyebrows, she continued. "Don't worry. It'd be fun. I promise." She stood on her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his chin.

When they came to the bed, Alice slid her hands underneath Jasper's shirt and he took it as a signal to slip out of it completely, taking off his pants as well. "Lay down, please," she commanded softly. Immediately he complied, crawling to the centre of the bed where she had arranged enough pillows for him to be propped up comfortably.

With a small smile, she joined him on the bed but gently grasping his wrist, she moved it to the nearest silken tie attached to the bedpost. Her even gaze was only broken from his to manoeuvre the material around both wrists as she moved from left to right. When she was finished with that, she pulled out a silk scarf from a drawer in the bedside table and proceeded to blindfold Jasper with it.

When she was certain that the knot wouldn't bother Jasper, she went to stand at the foot of the bed. He was bound before her, equal parts eager, helpless and hard. She had felt his heartbeat race as she slowly climbed off him but she whispered for him to relax and to simply concentrate on the sensations he would soon be experiencing.

An inexplicable current of fear went through Jasper when he felt the mattress dipped at the pressure of Alice moving off it. He had always believed that he was unworthy of such a wonderful, sweet, beautiful person like Alice and tied up as he was, he feared that she would simply leave him there.

"Alice?"

He heard quiet footsteps moving away from him.

"Alice? Alice, talk to me, Alice?"

"Shhh, remember, you trust me? I won't leave you. Just relax, honey."

Jasper uncurled his fingers, unaware he had them in a fist even, and concentrated on his breathing. He felt his body relax and mind ease. This was Alice. She loved him! Of course she wouldn't leave him!

Taking a step back, her gaze wandered across the attractive and graceful form before her. She drank in the sight of Jasper's sculpted muscles and her heart skipped a beat as her eyes settled on the spot where his hips dipped. She knew he was rather self-conscious of his scars and as such, tended to avoid the gym like the plague. But whatever it was that he did to obtain his lean, muscular frame, she hoped he'd never stop.

He heard Alice's light breathing and guessed that she was returning to his side once more. He heard a spoon clink against a plate and deduced that whatever was on that tray, it must have been food. He licked his lips, anticipating a spoon to press against it any time now. He was startled when instead, he felt Alice's cool mouth press against his shoulder. Her lips brushed against his heated skin as they parted and he felt a slick coldness coat his skin. He shivered under the sensation, trying to ascertain what it was that Alice was eating.

Whenever Alice moved down towards his chest, the cold texture would follow. He soon distinguished the feel of her tongue swirling against his skin, a fact he had previously missed. The cold texture was getting warmer now and runnier. He felt her tongue start to lap what he realized must have been ice cream. She pressed kisses against his skin before pulling away.

He was taken by surprise when she pressed a cold and fragrant finger against his lips. He parted his lips and darted his tongue out, wrapping it around her finger and drawing it into his mouth. Sorbet. Orange. _Mmmm_ …

She pulled her finger away and kissed him. He thought the sorbet tasted even better when mingled with her natural taste. All too soon, the kiss was over and Alice pulled away from him. He moaned softly, feeling his heart rate racing as his need strained against his boxers, desperate to get free.

The night passed, slowly yet swiftly, in this fashion. By the end of it, Alice had tasted the expense of Jasper's body. His abdomen where she found the cutest cluster of freckles. His thigh where she thought he was going to explode with all the swearing he was doing. The back of his knees where he started pleading with her to just end the madness already.

Taking pity on her feverish, slightly shaking beloved, she put away the rest of the foods and slipped out of her clothes. She went to the bed, running her hands over his tense muscles. She climbed to sit on his chest and removing his blindfold, she could see that his eyes were blazing and he exuded the barely contained ferocity of a man gone wild.

"Alice," he practically panted. "Alice, please, please untie me." Despite his body's rising temperature, he shivered when he saw the gleam in her eyes.

"I just have one more thing to try. A new position I've discovered." She leaned in and whispered into his ear.

"You," he moaned, trying in vain to loosen his restrains. "Do you know what you've done to me all night? What you're doing to me _right_ _now_?" The rough desire in his voice alone sent shivers down her spine. She undid the front clasp of her bra and let him watch as her hands wandered over skin and lace. His breathing became laboured and uneven.

"Just one last thing…" Her breath cooled his burning skin but only momentarily. "Promise not to move."

When he nodded his assent, she unfastened his bonds and his hands went immediately to remove her bra and caress her body and her breasts. True to his word, he hadn't moved and when she told him to lie back down, propping his head and shoulders with a pillow, he complied without delay. She spread his legs slightly and with her back to his face, she lowered herself onto his burgeoning excitement.

He arched backwards, unable to stop the moan that passed his lips. She placed her feet between his legs on the bed and placed her right hand on his right hipbone. Her left hand went on the bed next to his left hipbone and using her hands and feet to move herself up and down his shaft; she slowly propelled them to pleasure.

Seeing her pale, defined and yet perfectly unblemished back, so unlike his own, Jasper's hands roamed the expanse of it, savouring the feel of satin underneath his fingertips. His hands went to grip and dug themselves delicately into her waist. He didn't think he could suffer any more of this exquisite torture. Alice felt tight around him and he was just so close already. He managed to pass the euphoria haze clouding his addled brain, and when he saw that she was doing all the work, his hands went to massage her butt, her back and her neck.

Alice loved the feel of his hands all over his body. It was not often that he had access to places like her butt because of their height difference, yet when he got his palms on her breasts due to her small stature; she couldn't help but be thankful for it. His grip on his lover tightened as he tried to pant quietly. He was so close, _too_ close and when he felt her pulse around him, he knew that she was close too. Their hours of foreplay had made it difficult for either of them to last very long.

"Jasper." His name was nothing more than a breathless moan on her lips as he accompanied her into the blissful abyss. Her nails dug into his hips but he was too senseless to notice the pain. She slumped into him and he wrapped his arms around her. The night had left them exhausted and sweating but as their breathing evened out, he swatted her butt tenderly.

"You're going to pay for this."


	3. Assignment 2: Words of a Broken Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 2 title: Words of a Broken Heart
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Twilight
> 
> Assignment notes: One of your couple is hiding something. The guilt is eating them alive. It leaks into everything, bleeds into what should be a moment of passion, of love. They try to lose themselves in the moment, the pleasure, but they can't.

And so he keeps the truth to himself.

When he finally reaches home, reeking of smoke, alcohol and a slight whiff of perfume, he immediately sheds his clothing and tosses them into the washer and switches it on. He stumbles into the shower, tipsy, clumsy and barely awake. He scrubs himself until his skin is red and raw and practically chaffing. If he could, he will strip himself of his body entirely, step out of it completely but he cannot. The hot water does nothing to soothe his frazzled nerves but it does wonders for hiding his tears.

He throws on a well-worn shirt, the scent of years and years of cologne, his wife's body and home cooked meals permeating back into his skin. He crawls into bed gradually and quietly, not wanting to wake his wife. He spoons her, throwing his right arm around her waist and cupping her breasts with his left hand, pulling her closer into his embrace. When she wakes momentarily to ask him, "how was the party, sweetie?", he gives a non-committal grunt and urges her to go back to sleep. He buries his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply and wanting to forget the night's events but sleep does not come easy. It rarely does for the guilty.

The truth gnaws at him for days. The truth is ugly and repugnant and revolting and it eats away at him. He buries it deep, deep inside of him yet it tries to slither up to his throat, daring him to verbalize the hopelessness of it all.

He grows angry and restless. His mind wanders and he can barely concentrate on anything. He is brash and quick-tempered; he very nearly takes off a guy's arm just because the man implies that he was not doing his job right. He is slowly becoming a monster and he hates that he was the one who brought all this upon himself in the first place. In a cruel and perverted way, he almost wishes his wife could see him like this. He _wants_ her to find him like this so that when she asks what's wrong, he can spew the disgusting truth out to her.

But she doesn't. In a miraculous stroke of coincidence, she ends up having to work late most nights and by the time she comes home, he is sound asleep or at least, he pretends to be. She initiates nothing more than a hug and a kiss because she worries that he is too tired. She notices that he is sleeping so much more these days.

When she comes home early, and unexpectedly, one night, he decides that he will have none of his own evasive behaviour any more. The moment she puts down her bag and removes her heels, he catches her off-guard by appearing in front of her suddenly and grasping her wrists tightly.

"What's going-" she begins to ask before he silences with his mouth. He pins her against the walls and his erection keeps her in place. His kisses are hard as his hands roam free on her neck. His rough hands travel downward and tears her blouse off not so gently, sending buttons flying in every direction. This overt demonstration of strength, while arousing, scares her for a moment. "Hey, hey, stop." She places both hands on his chest, breaking off their kiss. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." He shrugs, his hungry eyes drinking in the sight of his topless wife. "It's just that it's been a while since we spent time together so I thought-"

He knows this is an excuse that will go well with her. Even after being married for over two years, they still cannot get enough of each other and so; she smiles and kisses him once more. His hands hitch up her skirt and goes higher and higher until his fingers brush against her panties. He tugs it a little and he releases her legs just so she can step out of them.

He lifts her up once more, grabbing onto the backs of her thighs and pushing up her skirt. He holds her against his hips and pushes her back into the wall for leverage. She gasps and sighs and in one quick motion, unhooks her bra and tosses it aside. His lips go straight for her neck and when she presses herself up against him, he feels that she is ready for him. He pushes into her quickly, thrusting relentlessly.

Her hands run through his hair and up and down his muscular back. He spreads her legs wide open, leaving her feeling vulnerable but when she tries to squeeze her thighs together, he stops them with his hands. His eyes hold her gaze, telling her that he will not be denied.

His fingers go to where she is starting to ache, starting to pulse like a second heartbeat and when he begins to caress her there, she moans and her eyes roll back. The friction is almost too much for her to bear and he knows she is close. Their rocking motion keeps slamming her back into the wall and the fire in her belly is burning far too fast for her to keep up. When he lowers his head to her breasts and bites her nipple a little too hard to be playful, the shock was enough to send her right over the edge, her body practically thrumming from the sensations.

He continues to pepper her body with kisses, moving from her breastbone to her neck, all the way trying to ignore the fact that while his wife found her release, he did not. Try as he might, he cannot lose himself to the pleasure. His mind is wired too tightly, constantly preoccupied with the fact that his wife must never discover the truth. The guilt eats at him but he must hide it. He must not let her see.

When she comes down from her high, he nips at her ear playfully, whispering that he wants to take their fun somewhere else. She nods but when he lets go of her, her limbs wobble and she grabs him for support.

He laughs but it is a strange one. It is nothing like his usual, deep and from the belly, but she does not notice. He promptly sweeps her off her feet, carrying her to their bedroom, all the while with her giggling into his chest. In all their time together, his spontaneity has always endeared him to her and tonight was no exception.

Built like a weight lifter, his stamina easily carries her up three flights of stairs and he places her on the edge of the bed. She isn't very sure about his plans but as they kiss once more, any apprehension she has disappears. He motions for her to lie back onto the bed while he plants her feet on the floor. Seeing her bare and completely unclothed, her blond hair spread out like an angel's, he grows more excited yet the shame in him blossoms. He does not deserve her and he wonders, bitterly, what did he ever do to have a woman like her in his life and why did he have to screw it up.

He moves to kneel between her legs but does not enter her. Instead, he leans down to kiss her, his rough, calloused hands roaming the expanse of her smooth skin. He grips a little too hard and her hands go to run up and down his body, telling him without words to take it easy. He strokes her thighs, squeezing and nipping; his movements becoming more and more frantic. He is determined to show that he loves his wife and he is desperate to prove to himself that the night he spent with a stranger was simply a fling. He loves his wife, he cannot live without her and that night was at most, a mistake. He was drunk and he fell into old habits. But he's changed. He will prove to her and to himself that no one, _no one_ can make her feel the way he can.

He puts his mouth on her and she thinks she might just die from the sheer exhilaration. Her body is still worn out from before but as he worked her body with his mouth, tongue laving between her legs, she comes alive again. He tastes her, drinks her and sucks on her flesh but just as she is about to climax again, he stops. The cool air startles her but before the shock registers, he buries himself in her sweetness. Her gasp of surprise is silenced by his mouth crashing onto hers as he moves himself as deeply into her as he can. He kisses her hard and passionately and moves to blow at the hollow of the throat, knowing that it is her weak spot.

She responds eagerly, a convulsion suctioning down on him, drawing him deep inside of her. She opens her eyes, wanting to lose herself in his blue ones, yet she sees that his eyes are frantic. He cannot seem to concentrate and the muscles in his arms and back are tense, pulled tight as if he were a tightrope. But soon, she too is unable to focus, the pleasure of their union overpowering her senses. He grinds himself against her every time their bodies comes together and rubbing himself against her, he watches as she whips her head back and forth in rising ecstasy, the eroticism of the moment raw on his nerves.

Pushing harder and grinding faster, she writhes in utter ecstasy beneath him. She screams her rapture, her body a mass of explosive bliss that seems never ending. When he suddenly stops thrusting and holds himself inside of her, her own pleasure culminates as she sighs and trembles in contentment. He collapses on top of her, pretending, pretending yet again.

After a few moments, he eases himself out of her, his need still hard and rigid, and moves her so that he can tuck her into bed. He buries his nose in her neck and lingers there for a moment, just breathing in her scent. He pulls the blanket over her and kisses her forehead, whispering that he has to go to the bathroom. He thinks she will stop him, but she is too exhausted to find anything amiss and mumbles something in her sleep.

Mutual gratification is an unspoken agreement between them but now, going into the bathroom, finishing himself off like this feels like a second betrayal. Having denied himself for so many days, coupled with the shame and self-condemnation he hung over himself, it is no wonder that he cannot achieve his own release. His hand moves up and down, not with passion or fervour, but just a mechanical motion to take the edge off. When he finally does climax, it is not with pleasure or contentment the way it usually is with his wife, but with guilt and ugly disapproval at his own sin.

He cleans himself up but when he makes his way back to the bed, he knows he is too haunted by contrition for sleep to claim him. He sits at the edge of the bed, and just stares into space. His eyes see nothing but the path set down before him; a path that will have him lose everything good in his life.

Time runs and ebbs and the only indication that night has passed is when the early rays of daybreak start to shine into their room. He has not moved an inch and when he feels his wife stir behind him, he contemplates moving into a sleeping position, to act as if he has been asleep as well.

But he does nothing. He is a mess of emotions and action. He is rooted in his place because he cannot decide what must be done.

She wakens and when she sees him simply sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her, her worries return. He has never acted this way until now and his actions from the night before come back to her in a haze of ecstasy and distress.

She moves to kneel behind him, her bare body pressed up against his back. His manhood begins to rouse treacherously but he denies himself the indulgence. She leans in over his shoulders and her hands move to stroke his chest. He shudders at her touch.

"Emmett, what's wrong? Tell me." She kisses his shoulder blades and then his cheek, inhaling the smell of his neck. The one scent that could soothe any anxiety she was afflicted with.

He cannot tell her. He cannot bear to bring her such pain. She had suffered much previously, with past lovers and partners. With his love and patience, she managed to get over the heartache and torment they had inflicted. Yes, it took her a long time but she survived.

Yet, if he tells her, if he so much as breathes his perfidy, he will break her. She will not survive this blow. The sorrow will consume her and he will have murdered her. It will be as if he took a knife to her heart and plunged it in with all his strength.

"I cannot." The pain is evident in his whisper, his voice breaking as he wrestles with the demons that have been plaguing him for days. His breathing becomes ragged as he starts to cry. He turns around, burying his face into the hollow of her throat, as the cacophony in his mind grows louder. He is weak and he is pitiful. He is a coward.

"Tell me." She cradles his head in her arms. Her fingers ran through his curly hair and she brushed it with gentle and light touches. She loves him with so much fiery passion and tender intimacy that some days, she thinks she will hardly be able to survive without him.

Her touch is his undoing.


	4. Assignment 3: Keeper of My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 3 title: Keeper of My Soul
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: The Host
> 
> Assignment notes: Write a scene featuring two virgins – any pairing is fine, so long as both are virgins.
> 
> Wanderer is ready to take their relationship to the next physical level but Ian isn't sure he's emotionally ready for such a commitment. When they finally come together as true partners, not everything goes according to plan.

The first movie he could ever remember watching had a title he could not pronounce and a soundtrack he did not particularly care for. But there was a gentleman and there was a lady and he wooed her with champagne, roses and dancing.

Oh, the dancing! He was a boy, yes, but he was also a child, and he loved how her dress swirled every time he twirled her, how it billowed every time he lifted her up and the dips, those captivating dips. He could not believe how either of them could hold their poses but they did. He loved the waltz best. They would just go around and around and around, just like his favourite ride in the carnival, the merry-go-round.

He remembered asking his mother to record that movie, just for that scene, so that he could watch it again and again. He remembered being engrossed and mesmerized. He remembered thinking, "Boy, if I ever find a pretty lady one day, I'd take her dancing!"

But then the invasion came. At first, nobody knew and life was peaceful. By the time they figured it out, it was hopeless and everyone who could escape went underground and there was no more dancing.

* * *

"You want to dance? Now?" Wanderer asked as she eyed Ian's dishevelled form. His shirt still had traces of soil, his hair was all over the place and he was sweating from all the exertion he had done in the fields. Obviously, he had run back to their room the moment he had a break from his chores, his mind full of notions with dancing.

"Yes, dancing." He smiled even though his chest was still heaving, still panting. He was, by no means, scrawny or unfit, but a whole morning working the fields and then running back to their living quarters had been a little taxing on his lungs.

"I'm not sure if I'll be very good at it." Wanderer relented, seeing how important this must be to Ian. Yet, in all her different life forms, she had never danced before. She could sing relatively well from her time in the Bat World but dancing! Dancing was completely human.

"I'll show you." Ian beckoned her to get up from the bed and come closer to him. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of his sweat but he only laughed, saying their dancing will only take a minute. She wasn't sure where her hands should go; after all, Soul entertainment on TV rarely had dancing and she had never watched old human shows before.

Seeing how much shorter she was to himself, Ian lifted Wanderer onto his feet, allowing her to stand on it and then placed her hands on his waist. Again, that blush, the blush he enjoyed watching so much, started creeping up her face and she averted her gaze to hide it. He laughed rambunctiously, amused that he could get her to blush so easily. He positioned his hands very gently at the back of her neck and very slowly, they began to move as one.

Admittedly, he was never good at dancing, not even as a child and with Wanderer standing on his feet, he moved very slowly and awkwardly. Yet, this was one of the happiest moments in his life. He hadn't thought about that dancing movie in a long, _long_ time but the unbidden image had come to him, strangely enough, while he was toiling in the fields and he couldn't shake it off. He couldn't help but think, "Wanderer is a pretty lady. I want to take a pretty lady dancing."

Perhaps he shouldn't have just come straight to their room looking and smelling the way he did but he just needed to have Wanderer in his arms. He wanted them to dance so badly. Dancing had been a deeply seated memory of his childhood and his childhood had seemed like lifetimes ago. Childhood was supposed to be the kingdom where nobody died but he had lost his parents and even as an adult, he lost friends like Wes. Too much had been taken from him but dancing, no, he couldn't let anyone take that away from him.

Wanderer could feel the muscles in Ian's body tensing and from the faraway look in his eyes, she sensed that he was somewhere immersed in his mind. He had a habit of doing that but that was one of the things she loved about him. Souls rarely ever had that look. They were focused on the present, the now, but Ian, her brave, beautiful _human_ Ian. She loved how he could be a world away, and with a single touch or word, he would always come back. He would always come back to her.

"This probably isn't my best attempt at dancing," Ian had to admit after a few minutes of graceless lumbering around.

"It's all right. I have nothing to compare it too." He laughed and Wanderer placed her head onto his breastbone. She only came up to his chest but this was her favourite place. It was familiar and comforting and despite the dirt and horrid odour coming from Ian, she felt safe and reassured.

They danced in this fashion for a little while longer before Wanderer lifted her head and spoke. "You probably need to head back now. Your break's almost over."

Ian looked into Wanderer's beautiful blue eyes and lightly brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face. He leaned down and gave her a chaste peck on her cheek, which was more than enough to set the blush rising again. "I want nothing more than to be with you forever."

This intimate moment, so calm that it was passionate, so simple that it was intense, changed the mood of the room immediately. Ian could sense it, and so could Wanderer. Ian's rough and calloused hands caressed Wanderer's shoulders tenderly as she stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. Like most of their kisses, this one started innocently but as the fire burned through them, and fervour took over, it morphed into one of ardent passion and excitement. He kissed her deeply, pressing her into his body and loving how she felt upon him, how it was just the pressure of simply them, him and her. Her hands couldn't get enough of his face, the both of them touching and stroking until her skin memorized the feel of him.

She was contemplating proceeding with what she had in mind when a knock came on their rather primitive door, Jamie's voice floating through the cavern.

"Ian? Jeb really needs you back in their fields. And he says to quit harassing Wanda." There was a muffled snicker. "I didn't say that!"

"Fine, fine, I'll be there in a minute!" Ian called out and the answer seemed to pacify the teen enough to go running back to Jeb. There was no doubt in either of their minds that had Jamie not interrupted them, they could have very possibly gone the furthest they had ever been in their physical relationship.

Ian swallowed the lump in his throat and saw that Wanderer was indeed blushing once more. "Don't worry, he didn't see us," he joked.

"Of course not." She laughed, her high-pitched voice making a melodious tune. "It's just…weird, that's all."

"If you'd like," Ian said softly as he ran his stained hands through her hair. "We could continue this when I get back tonight." There was hesitance in Wanderer's eyes so he hurried to continue. "But only if you'd like."

Knowing that this was the moment she had been waiting for, she cleared her throat and ignoring the wretched heat on her face, her gaze locked with his. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he breathed into her smile.

* * *

Aside from dolphins, humans were the only other species that engaged in the act of reproduction for pleasure. Wanderer hadn't known about this and when she finally figured it out, no thanks to Kyle's constant and unwanted commentary on Jared and Mel's nightly activities, she found herself fascinated. Souls obviously did not belong in that category. For them, the act of reproduction was excruciatingly painful, and was ultimately, a fatal sacrifice for motherhood. The thought that such an act, or something similar to it, could be pleasurable was a notion that never occurred to Wanderer. She _supposed_ it could be, judging from the rather risqué romance novels Kyle keeps throwing at Mel in jest and Wanderer picking them up to read because she had never seen human novels before.

When she was next alone with Ian in their room, she raised the issue, asking in a rather apprehensive tone if he would like to have sex with her. Caught unawares, he choked on the drink of water he was having, and had a coughing fit that lasted for almost ten minutes. She patted on his back but wondered about his reaction. The men in those books never responded the way Ian did. Perhaps she had asked him wrong?

"Do you know what you're asking?" Ian finally replied when he managed to calm himself down and the hacking coughs stopped.

"Of course I do," she said, sounding a little braver than what she was truly feeling. The blushing was creeping up her face but she fought to suppress it. How she wished her body wasn't prone to such a crippling condition.

He studied her intently as a bemused expression formed on his face. "Let me get this straight. You want us to have sex?" She nodded. "Why?"

Wanderer was caught off-guard by his questions. Those fictional men certainly didn't ask any prior to having sex with the females. Unlike Ian, they had seemed quite enthusiastic by the prospect of it all and were eager to jump into bed with the heroines, so to speak.

"I-well-" she stammered a little before regaining her composure. "Well, it's a human experience and I'd like to experience it for myself. We will be partners in the truest sense of the word and I'd like that very much."

It was not that Ian had no inclination to share such an intimate experience with Wanderer but the fact that he himself was still a virgin mattered very much to him. He had long made peace with the fact that his childhood was not the fairytale-kind; that he had lost people he loved as a child. But as an adult, he thought he would be stronger but he wasn't. Losing his friends to the invasion, losing Wanderer after reconciling with his conflicting feelings for her; it made him doubt the fact that he was ready for such a personal connection. He didn't think himself as ready. He couldn't possibly give himself to anyone; let alone Wanderer whom he loved with every fibre of his being.

Hearing what she had to say, he pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her. "I held you in my hands, Wanderer. I held you in your purest form." He smiled down at her; a smile so genuine and so beautiful that Wanderer almost felt her heart skip a beat. "We don't need to have sex to be partners. I love you, Wanderer, keeper of my soul." He grazed her cheek with the pad of his thumb and he kissed her lips, softly and gently and she knew the subject matter was out of the question, for now.

She turned to Mel next for advice, knowing that the woman she had come to count as a sister would, undoubtedly, have some good advice for her. On account of her own physically weak body, Wanderer had very few chores to do and was mostly relegated to the kitchens, preparing the day's meals. Mel was rarely assigned to such activities given her strong physique but when she broke her ankle from a particularly rough game of soccer, she had no choice but to accept the task of peeling potatoes with Wanderer.

"You want to have sex with Ian?" Mel asked, her eyes widened with surprised as her mind processed the information Wanderer gave a few minutes earlier.

"Why does everyone seem so surprised by this?" A quick burst of anger flashed through Wanderer but as quickly as it had come, it faded just as rapidly. "I mean, Ian doesn't seem to think it's a good idea either."

"Well, you can't blame him." Mel snorted in a rather unladylike manner but seeing Wanderer's upset demeanour, she quickly sobered up. "Wanda," she began in a kinder, gentler tone. "You just have to understand that you still look like a child. Kissing is one thing but this is sex. Maybe Ian doesn't want to feel like he's taking advantage of you. I mean, why else would you lie about your age, right?"

"Wait-wait, you knew?" Wanderer had thought of her deception as a brilliant concealed falsification but apparently, it wasn't as well hidden as she had believed.

"Please." Mel rolled her eyes. "It took us a while but we managed to figure it out. Jared thought it was brilliant, by the way. For once, it was very selfish of you."

"Well…" Wanderer shrugged but inside, she felt pleased. Perhaps it was leftover sentiment when Mel and her still shared a body but she liked it whenever Jared complimented her because it made her feel proud, almost smug that she was finally adjusting to being human.

"Look, I can't help you with what you're asking me. It's not right of me to teach you how to seduce Ian. We have to respect his wishes, and to be honest, it's a little creepy." She held up a hand when Wanderer tried to cut in. "That said, there _are_ things for _you_ to do that can, shall we say, ease the situation should he be ready to have sex with you."

Making sure that the rest of the women and children in the kitchen were well out of earshot, Mel proceeded to offer suggestions on steps Wanderer could take to prepare herself for the eventuality of sex, such as stretching exercises. Wanderer thought it was rather brazen of her to provide such guidance considering her own (practically non-existent) physical relationship with Jared, but given that Mel had been secretly asking her to sneak some contraceptives from pharmacies during their raids, she guessed that Jared probably had a change of heart. After their chores were completed and she was walking Mel back to her room, she even made sure to press a few wrappers into Wanderer's shaking hands and winked. "Just in case," she whispered.

Now that it was a few months later, and Ian had finally decided that he was ready for sex, Wanderer wondered if she should take those wrappers out from the hidden panel in the wall. What if that was too forward of it? She deliberated for several moments before decided to take one out to give to Ian later. She wasn't ready to be a mother yet and in view of the fact that she was in her human form, motherhood was certainly a possibility.

There was a knock on the door and Wanderer smelt Ian before he entered. She was expecting the smell of the vile cactus soap they usually used but Ian must have cleaned up with one of the gentle soaps she had collected in their previous raid. She collected enough for everyone in the caves to have a small supply of them but most only used it for special occasions. A burning sensation swept through her body as she thought of Ian judging tonight to be a special occasions.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile as he came through the doorway, closing the door with a soft click behind him. His hair was wet and messy from his bath and his shirt was a little crumpled from him simply pulling it over himself in haste but Wanderer didn't think he looked better.

"Hey yourself." Sitting on their bed, she watched him throw his towel into one of their crudely made laundry baskets and knew that he must be feeling as nervous as she was. He turned to face her and knowing that there wasn't much else to say, he closed the distance between them quickly and climbed into bed with her. He moved to kiss her, deeply and passionately, and she responded in kind, her body so craving and relishing the intense attention. His large calloused hands touched every single inch of her skin, from her face to her neck to her bare shoulders and her body hummed from his ministrations.

Their behaviour was completely different from what they normally exhibited. Their fondness for each other had always been displayed through chaste kisses and light touches. Even in the privacy of their room, they, and Ian in particular, were always careful to reserve their most ardent of affections for when they were helplessly and completely out of control, powerless against their own desires.

He gently pushed her to lie back down on their bed and his hands, very tentatively, began to touch her breasts through her shirt. "Is this okay?" he asked and she could only nod, the feel of him against her beginning to overwhelm her senses. She wasn't sure what she should do next and so, simply tugged on his shirt, her hands moving underneath to touch him. She could feel him shiver under her touch and after a moment to steel himself, he lifted himself to pull his shirt off.

Her eyes drank in the sight of him. She had seen him topless before, but now, in this moment, she was taken by his power and grace. Ian, the _human_ she stayed in a planet for. The man she could finally love in this body. Her hands went to pull her own shirt off and unclasp her bra. She grasped his hips as she pulled him back down to her and wrapped his arms around his neck.

Ian groaned as his hands covered her breasts, gently tugging at the tender buds. The sparks in her body ignited into full-fledged blazes coursing through her body, and she moaned, her hands pulling at his shoulders as her legs involuntarily spread. He ran a hand down her thigh and she wasn't sure she could bear the heat building in her any more. He leaned in and caught her swollen lips with his, pressing his tongue into her. This time the kissing was different. Softer, more intimate. Less demanding. She kissed him back, pushing back against him, and he trembled on top of her.

Very quickly, they undressed each other and when they were finally unclothed, he asked her once more, "You're sure about this?" He wanted to make sure that the both of them were ready for such an irreversible and momentous change to their relationship. Wanderer's answer came in the form of her pulling the hidden condom wrapper from under the pillow and giving it to him. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he tore open the packaging and proceeded to sheath himself.

He hovered above her, and feeling her shiver underneath him, he caressed her cheek. "Don't be afraid," he whispered.

"I'm not afraid," she murmured and she wasn't. She was excited to experience this innately human experience and she couldn't wait for them to be true partners. He was her intended, and she him, and now they were marking each other for life.

He began to press into her lips opened beneath his, his tongue sliding into her mouth as he stretched her open. There was slight resistance, a shudder, and then he pressed through. Wanderer felt stretched, full and slightly uncomfortable but she had anticipated all these; Mel's suggestion of stretching exercises finally paying off. She wrapped her legs around his waist and Ian stilled himself, giving Wanderer some time to adjust to being completely filled by a man for the first time in her life. When she gave him a small nod, saying without words that she was ready, he began to move. He tried to be gentle; he tried to move slowly, as much as he could force himself to. He slid in a few inches and pulling out to press in more. He could feel the small movements in her hips and he moaned against her shoulder as her insides pulsed through him and although he was new to this too, he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"It's okay," she cooed, rubbing up and down his back. She had expected this too; Mel had told her that women rarely ever found pleasure during their first time and that she shouldn't be surprised if Ian found his. Men usually had it easier and better in this aspect. "It's okay. Just let go," she whispered into his ear.

With one last thrust; Ian gave in to his pleasure and a shiver of that delightful culmination had him quivering. She made small sounds in her throat and when he collapsed on top of her, she kissed his neck. He breathed laboriously but moved to lay down next to her, mindful that he was much, much heavier than she was. The humidity in their room was becoming a little too stifling as Ian stroked Wanderer's sweat-dampened hair back from her face. But when he saw her through half-lidded eyes, he sobered up. "You didn't-you didn't-and I just. My god, I'm a selfish bastard," he chastised himself, shaking his head as he mentally berate himself further.

"No, no." She hurried to comfort him. She pressed herself up to him and kissed his chin. "I love you, I don't care about me not…climaxing." There was that silly blush again. "We can always try again."

"But-"

"I love you so very much and this just proves that nothing can come between them." As much as Wanderer had loved the physical intimacy they had just shared, it was more of an emotional catharsis for her. She saw them, him and her, as partners in the truest sense. "You're my _only_ partner," she whispered against his jaw and he kissed her back.

He curled around her, holding her closer to his chest as he pulled the white sheet across their nude forms. He breathed in the scent of her hair and just as he was about to fall asleep, he mumbled, "We _definitely_ need to try again."


	5. Assignment 4: Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Twilight
> 
> Pairing: Jasper/Alice, Human AU
> 
> Assignment notes: Write any kind of masturbation scene, as long as it's outside of your comfort zone. Remember to describe what your character is thinking and feeling (using as few adverbs as possible). There should be at least one reference to cornflakes.
> 
> Author's note: This follows the events that happened in Assignment 1. You don't have to read it before reading this one but if you're looking for context and a more comprehensive back-story, please feel free to do so. :)
> 
> Jasper decides that he wants to enjoy a little payback from Alice but soon, the tables are turned and he realizes that he may have gotten more than what he bargained for.

It took Jasper several weeks to plan his surprise.

After the rather elaborate treat Alice had indulged for herself, he wanted to make sure that he would exact sweet revenge while having a little fun for himself at the same time. He recalled a conversation they once had where they got slightly tipsy after a few drinks and started talking about the different fantasies they sometimes played in their head.

"I think I'd like to be tied up sometimes. Not in a rough way, mind you, but you know, in a sexy way."

"I don't care very much for touching myself but I suppose it would be nice not to have an inhibition of that sort."

He could tell that Alice was a little nervous. His work with the museum had been taking him out of the country recently, for long stretches at a time, so he had suggested Alice move out of the apartment she shared with him and moved in with her cousin, just so she'd have some company. They spoke over the phone every day, yet he missed her terribly and wanted nothing more to just close his eyes and wished himself to her.

When his work was finally concluded, he made sure to keep his arrival back into the country a secret from her and so, when he called her three nights later, she was none the wiser. He told her he had a little surprise for her and could she come over for dinner now please.

He had to admit, he wasn't sure if his plan would work at all, if he could even call it a plan. When she arrived half an hour later, and he promptly helped her out of her coat, he was quick to confess of his earlier arrival home. Alice was, undoubtedly, a little miffed but after he promised repeatedly that he would make it up to her, she found herself a little more than curious as to what that would entail.

Throughout dinner, he kept sneaking furtive glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking and in turn, that made Alice very nervous. What could he have possibly prepared? She still hadn't forgotten his comment of payback the last time she played a game with him, and now, she wondered anxiously if he would try something similar with her. She declined his offer of a second plate of desert and opted instead for another glass of wine. By the time dinner was done, she had three glasses of wine and was slightly pink in the face. Jasper kissed her on the cheek and told her to go wait for him in the living room while he loaded the dishwasher.

It wasn't long before Jasper realized that he had to get Alice to calm down a little before proceeding with what he had in mind for the evening. He popped a random chick flick into the player, one that he was sure Alice would like, and got her to sit between his legs, her back leaning into him. He went to massage her shoulders, her neck and her back and by the end of the movie, she was relaxed enough that Jasper decided it was time to have some fun.

"Let's entertain ourselves, shall we?" he whispered into her ear, his breath tickling the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Do you promise to at least give whatever I have in mind a try?"

There was a pause. "I promise," her voice so soft and faint that he wasn't sure if he had heard her right. He kissed the side of her neck once, twice, thrice before extricating himself from between her back and the couch and came to kneel in front o her.

"I love you." Jasper cupped the sides of her face and gently pulled her towards him. He kissed her, a kiss so searing, so frenzied that she felt herself warming up just from his touches and caresses. His hands went from the sides of her face to the base of her neck and he found himself a little amused by the fact that her neck was so slender that his hands could go around it easily. His thumb went to stroke the spot where an Adam's apple could have been and her breath hitched at the ticklishness.

Her silk shirt suddenly felt too chilly on her heated skin and when his fingers brushed past her breasts, tightening the silk over across her chest, and making her nipples tingle in her bra, she moaned, longing for a firmer touch.

Slowly, he undid her buttons, all the way down, the silk brushing against her abdomen in an incredibly light teasing way, and she did moan a little louder into their kiss. When he pulled off her shirt in the most slow and sensual way possible, she thought she could just faint from the breathlessness of it all. He pulled her up to her feet and though they had to break their kiss due to their considerable height difference, they never lost the heat in their eyes or the delirium in their skin. He tugged on her pants and she got the message to lose them completely. It felt strangely arousing to be standing in only her underwear in front of Jasper who was so wholly clothed. The air in the room was becoming colder, they must have forgotten to turn up the heater, and she felt the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rising.

Jasper reached into his pocket in a slow and deliberate move, knowing that he had Alice's full attention now. He pulled out one of the many scarves Alice kept in her wardrobe and gestured for her to come a little closer. He lifted the scarf to her eyes and proceeded to use it as a blindfold. "Don't be afraid," he assured her when he saw a flash of panic in her eyes.

It took Alice several moments to adjust to being blind. She often described herself as a sensuous person, not just sexually, but as someone who delighted in whatever her senses experienced. Being momentarily sightless, she found herself on edge, buzzing like a live wire, as if her other senses were trying to overcompensate. She took a few deep breaths and counted to ten silently as she felt Jasper tying a knot and making sure it wouldn't bother her. She knew he wouldn't do anything that she wouldn't consent to and she trusted him completely.

"Come with me." His voice sounded like he was now standing behind her and leaning downward to speak in her ear. Jasper placed his hands on her shoulders and very carefully, guided her to their bedroom. Her steps were tentative and hesitant, almost as if she wasn't sure she could or would go through with the night but as they drew closer to the room, he could sense that there was a discernible change in her gait. She walked a little more steadily and her shoulders were squared and he knew that she was determined to see the night through.

When they came to their bedroom, Alice could feel that the temperature was considerably higher than what it was in the living room and she guessed that Jasper must have taken the effort to warm their room prior. She was grateful, given her current attire, and when Jasper came from behind to gather her in his arms, his body heat transferring to her chilly body, she couldn't help but feel a little aroused at the fluctuation of sensations.

A few minutes later, she felt him release her and she heard quiet footsteps moving around her. When she heard the slight squeaking of the springs in their bed, she surmised that she was standing in front of their bed and that Jasper was now sitting on it.

"We're going to start out simple," came Jasper's soothing voice and Alice felt herself relax, but just a little. "Alice, I'd like for you to touch yourself."

She stiffened a little, unsure of how to carry on. Clearly, Jasper was trying to help her get over her reservations about touching herself, much like she had earlier helped him fulfil his fantasy of being tied up. Growing up in a relatively religious home, the practice of self-love was strictly frowned upon and prohibited. It wasn't until Alice entered college and took classes on more liberal subjects like sexual communication and female sexuality did she realize that it wasn't _bad_ to masturbate.

But it certainly still wasn't easy.

Leaning back on the bed with his arms propping him up and drinking in the sight of a barely-clothed Alice not five feet away from him, Jasper was already turned on. He had initially chose to use a blindfold on her, knowing that if she couldn't see him watching her, she wouldn't be so self-conscious and was more willing to give his proposal a shot, but as it were, he was glad that she couldn't see his raging erection; he certainly didn't want to scare her so early into the evening.

Despite not being able to see through the windows to Alice's soul, Jasper could see the multitude of emotions Alice was feeling reflected on her face. There was that blush he loved so much, a clear indicator that she was turned out by what they were doing, and furrowed eyebrows exhibiting the warring of her upbringing and her liberal education, and at last, the quirk of her mouth, expressing that perhaps she was going to enjoy this after all.

Breathing deeply, Alice felt some tension in her upper back so she shrugged her shoulders and relaxed the muscles. The air in the room felt warm, but knowing that Jasper was watching her every move, she could feel her nipples stiffening and a little shiver trickled down her spine.

With quivering hands, she brought up her hands and touched the sides of her abdomen. Her hands slid past her bra and then up to her collarbone. She imagined it was Jasper who was teasing her, and somehow, that made it easier. Her nipples were hardening and soon, the bra was becoming too constricting. She reached behind her and unclasped the hooks and when she bore herself to Jasper's sight, she heard him stifle a groan and a small smile played across her face.

She casually tossed her bra aside and slid her hands up her abdomen, cupping her breasts very gently. She squeezed them a little, giving them a sensual massage. She heard Jasper shift on the bed and she knew that he was clearly enjoying the show. She brushed her fingers across her nipples, brush and knead, brush and then knead. She wasn't sure of what she was doing but she must have been doing something right because with all the attention to her breasts, there was a slow heat building between where her legs met and it was making her squirm with anticipation.

Seeing Alice pleasure herself like that, Jasper finally realized that as much as this was helping her, this was a punishment for him too. Her muscles were taut, and her nipples were just aching to be pinched but having made a silent promise to himself that he would only be an observer, she was slowly torturing him out of his mind. His manhood strained painfully against his boxers and he contemplated ridding himself of it, to simply bask in his own revelling before deciding against it. This was about Alice, it always has been.

Alice wanted to moan, her own light touch driving her crazy. It was so much easier when someone else was teasing her; teasing herself took a very different kind of will power than what she was used to. She was no longer uncomfortable with her actions but was more concentrated on the fact that she didn't want to climax without Jasper. She clamped her legs tightly together as she tried to soothe some of the burning need that was aching between her legs.

She began to draw circles on her breasts with her fingers, starting at the outermost part of her breasts and working her way into her nipples. When she came to her nipples, she pinched them lightly between her fingers and released, doing it over and over again, adding a little more pressure each time. She moaned, her back arching, her excitement growing and fanning the flames burning through her body.

"Slower," a soft, strained voice murmured and her eyes opened despite the blindfold. Jasper hadn't meant to speak aloud, he was trying very hard to simply be an observer, but Alice's movements, the way her body was becoming flush with arousal was becoming too much for him to bear. His hands were gripping the sheets tightly, his body shaking slightly and covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and he wondered belatedly if he would have gone through with his plans had he known what a siren he would unleash in Alice.

Alice's heartbeat quickened as she realized what Jasper must be going through at the moment. She smiled, a little ruefully, at the thought of how the tables had turned but compiled to his request nonetheless. Her fingers moved in circles around her nipples, achingly slower, and her legs inevitably clenched ever tighter together, willing herself to remain in control.

Keeping one hand on her breasts, she slowly pressed her fingers of the other hand down her abdomen and hooked one finger around the band of her panties. She dragged it down her thighs unhurriedly and from her womanly scent, Jasper could tell Alice was, for lack of a better term, good and ready.

She let her fingers slip down to where she was aching most painfully and she moaned at the wonderful sensation. It felt heavenly too; her own touch was gentle but firm, and hearing Jasper's intake of breath, she knew that he was feeling it too. She massaged herself in a circular motion, applying pressure as and when she felt like it, and when she started to tease herself, her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Her legs were spreading wider and her core was sending jolts of electricity through her body and when her hand started to disappear, her fingers pushing into the source of her heat, Alice felt Jasper's hands pulling her roughly forward.

"Stop, stop," he practically whimpered as he pulled the blindfold off her eyes. Jasper had kept the room dark so it didn't take Alice long for her eyes to re-adjust. His hand went to cradle the back of her neck as he pulled her close to him, his other hand taking the opportunity to fondle her body.

Their tongues met in their very own erotic dance and as they panted through their kisses, it didn't escape Alice's notice that Jasper had already removed his boxers. He must have taken them off when he knew that they weren't going to last very long and seeing the manifestation of his urges; she quickly lowered herself onto him, riding him, the both of them gasping from the sensation.

Jasper's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let his hand wander downward and touch her where she was pulsing like a second heartbeat. He circled her soft wetness and Alice's breathing got louder as she squirmed, the pleasure building up to an incredible pitch. Her delicate hands came to rest on his chest as she used it as leverage to move against him.

"I want to be the only one who makes you feel this way," he gasped between kisses. His other unoccupied hand moved to cup one of her butt cheeks and when he squeezed, she couldn't help but let loose an expletive.

"I do what I want," she retorted, but only half-heartedly as she writhed under Jasper's ministrations. Jasper's thrusts increased in speed and intensity, and there was nothing Alice could do but to surrender to their lust. Her head fell back, her entire body twisting and arching and when she finally fell over the edge, she screamed Jasper's name as the pleasure washed over her, wave after wave of blinding ecstasy. Her climax had come so suddenly that Jasper was taken by surprise, her nails digging into his chest and pushing him into euphoria.

As Alice collapsed on top of Jasper and the both of them slowly came down from their high, Jasper lighted up the pressure he had placed on Alice's core and instead, went back to gently massaging her sensitive folds, making sure her climax was long and drawn out but without ever becoming painful from overstimulation. The gentle rubbing felt wonderful to Alice, spreading the warm sensation of satisfaction throughout her entire body while she came down from the sensual high.

As they laid on the bed, breathing and perspiring heavily while recovering from their exertion, Alice playfully pinched Jasper's side. "That'd teach you to plan your revenge."

"What can I say? You're a fast learner." He laughed as he kissed the top of her head.


	6. Assignment 5: Great Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 5 title: Great Expectations
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Twilight
> 
> Pairing: Edward/Bella, Human AU
> 
> Assignment notes: Draw from a personal sexual experience – good, bad, or ugly – and write it out. Bring yourself back to that moment and try to express your own feelings.
> 
> Author's note: There is a line in here that is adapted from The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Many thanks to mizramanips aka Sam for inspiring this piece. :) As the assignment called for us to draw from a personal sexual experience and I've had none, I'm improvising and simply making sure this assignment is as realistic as possible. I'm not particularly pleased with how this turned out, but I still hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> Bella is now finally Mrs. Edward Cullen and the newlyweds can't wait to begin their married life, starting with their wedding night. But with the both of them virgins, have they set their expectations a little too high?

Bella stood in front of the glass window that was the entire west wall of the hotel room as she looked out to see the city lights before her. She had never seen Chicago like this, so beautiful and so mesmerizing. She sincerely hoped that she would be able to come back to the city often just so she could take it the lights. In the face of such a bewitching spectacle, she felt that everything else, every trouble, every worry was pathetically insignificant.

She felt the temperature seemingly dropping and she moved to adjust the thermostat. Despite the modification, she still held herself tightly, rubbing her forearms to generate a little more warmth. She shivered a little but stilled when she felt him pressing himself against her.

"Cold?" he whispered into her ear as he lowered his head to give her left cheek a peck from behind. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him, revelling in the feel of her in his arms.

"I have you," she whispered as she turned around to kiss him on the lips, the beautiful night view momentarily forgotten. It was only a light kiss, much like all the other ones they had during the day, but this one was different. It was much more intimate, much more loving and it thrilled her to know that these kisses will be the norm for them both for the rest of their lives.

"You will always have me, Mrs. Cullen." Edward smiled into their kiss and rather reluctantly, broke apart from their embrace. While he took off his jacket, Bella reached forward to undo his tie, a gesture she had always done after he came home from work ever since they moved in together. It felt a little strange to her, almost surreal that this was something she was bringing from their parallel lives into their singular, married one.

"I can't believe we're married," she said with a wide grin on her face as she admired her wedding band. "I can't believe we're _actually_ married."

"Why? Are you having second thoughts this soon?" Edward joked and he pulled her closer, bringing her left hand to his lips as he kissed her wedding band. He inhaled in the heady scent of her perfume and a tingle went down his spine. It intoxicated him, electrified him as if his entire body were a live wire.

"You wish." He lifted his head at the sound of her voice and there was that quirk of her mouth that he loved so much. He went to kiss her on the lips and sighed contently as her arms snaked around his waist and tightened comfortably. He had fallen in love the same way she fell asleep: slowly, then all at once. They had met in AP Biology when Edward moved to Forks in his junior year. It was not love at first sight, not for her and certainly not for him. He was still miffed about the move and had, very resolutely, declared to his parents that he was not going to enjoy Forks so much as he was going tolerate it. They had moved because his father wanted to bring his medical practice from Chicago to small townsfolk but that didn't mean he had to like it.

But Bella changed that. She was not like the other girls, the ones who whispered as he walked down the hallways, who sighed and swooned over his windswept hair, his chiselled face and his lean muscled physique. Instead, she saw the sadness in his walk, the quick flash of misery before every hostile remark, the way his eyes glazed over every now and then.

She recognized the signs, of course she did. She had moved to Forks not too long ago herself, because her mother was remarrying and she thought it best if she spent more time with her father. She too felt depressed by the constant raining, the lacklustre social scene and so she understood Edward's situation perfectly. It wasn't love, no, but she recognized her kindred in him.

It was difficult making conversation at first due to Edward's insistency of being as terse as humanly possible. She tried to get him to open up, even to the point of using the fact that she was the youngest in their class as a talking point, but their conversations centred mostly on class assignments, on whose turn it was to get the microscope from the supply closet or who they should interview for their project. It was only after Bella saw Edward scribbling in a journal, with handwriting far too illegible for her to make out anything, did she suggest a 24-hour coffee house that had affordable, decent coffee. He had eyed her suspiciously before Bella clarified that it was simply a good place to just be alone with one's thoughts.

He was reluctant to take her suggestion, mostly because he had promised himself to simply tolerate Forks and bowing to her proposition seemed like he was attempting to enjoy himself but after seeing her in the same coffeehouse for the third time in a row, he decided to throw caution to the wind and invite her to sit at his table.

They remained in a completely platonic friendship until his first year of college. Due to their age difference, Edward graduated earlier and went to college back in Chicago, but he missed Bella. He missed her easy smile, their intellectual-stimulating conversations on classical poetry and literature, the way she could put him down every time his ego seemed to be taking over. He didn't think he would think about her so much and quite frankly, he assumed that he would simply find a girlfriend in college and start his life anew. He didn't think the adage 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' would apply to him until he caught himself looking forward to her weekly emails. By then, he knew he had fallen hard and he knew he had to do something to profess his affections. After all, with Bella still in high school in Forks, there would be no stopping someone, say Mike Newton, from asking her to be _his_ girlfriend.

With that strangely terrifying and humbling thought, he quickly cleared his schedule to make sure he would be able to return to Forks during his next semester break. He remembered anxiously anticipating Bella's answer when he arrived at her porch, asking if they could take a walk through town.

Now, tonight, he found it funny that such a juvenile request, something as simple as asking Bella to be his girlfriend, would scare him witless when he should have been worried about the grander scheme of things, such as asking Bella to be his _wife._ Here, him in her arms and she in his, it was difficult to imagine even a moment in time where he thought she might actually say no. He could, ultimately, be kind of an asshole sometimes and he knew that even Bella, the most patient and tolerant of persons, would get exasperated with him but through it all, they had persevered. Now, they were man and wife, bound in matrimony for both the public and God to see, and his heart leaped every single time at the thought of the life they would share.

Her delicate hands slid down his shirt and she un-tucked it from his pants rather gracelessly. Having broken their kiss to see what she was doing, he laughed at the sight of her fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons.

"Slow down, we have the rest of the night." His hands moved to cover hers as he took over the task of unfastening his shirt.

"Speak for yourself," she retorted but there was a glint in her eyes. "You, of all people, should know about impatience."

Their wedding night was something of a concern for Bella, and her worries that the both of them were going to fail at what seemed so natural was not unfounded. They had, of course, pushed the boundaries of their physical relationship more times than she could count but every time they were _this close_ to crossing that dangerous yet tantalizing line, Bella would put on the brakes. It was not that she didn't want Edward, by God she wanted him like a fat kid wanting chocolate, but she knew she wasn't ready. She didn't want to give herself to anyone, let alone Edward, if she wasn't mentally and emotionally prepared for how their relationship would evolve. If her mother's second marriage taught her anything, it was that she had to make sure she'll make the right choice the first time around and Edward had been a perfect gentleman about it.

He endured cold showers for her, never once called or even thought of her as a tease and was adamant that _she_ be the one to call the shots. The _one_ time Bella let her self-control slip and they were so close to consummate their relationship, Edward's parents came home early and ended up having dinner with two dishevelled young adults, red-faced and sweaty. After that, it just seemed easier to push everything to their wedding night. Tonight.

Edward was finally bare-chested in front of her and she took the chance to run her hands over his body, feeling and liking the way he shivered under her touch. His hands went to her hips and he pulled her very gently towards him. Now that he was exposed, almost vulnerable, to her on this special night, he desired the same from his wife. To his dismay, when he turned Bella so that her back faced him, he found an entire line of tiny buttons dotting the back of her wedding dress, impeding his goal of undressing his wife.

"You're kidding me," he cursed underneath his breath, despite the sheer mesh offering him a tempting and mouth-watering view of Bella's back.

"That's not what you said when I modelled the dress for you in the shop." Bella raised an eyebrow, enjoying the fact that, for now, her husband was speechless. But, no one to back down from any kind of a challenge, Edward went straight to work, unhooking the tiny buttons from impossibly tiny eyelets. Bella took the chance to remove the numerous pins in her hair, and let her hair down; just the way Edward liked it and smiled to herself, as his fingers poked and stumbled through his task. When he was finally finished, he took a step back and let the dress drop from her body, unveiling Bella's slender and petite frame clad only in a matching set of white lingerie.

"God, you're perfect," he whispered as she snuggled up against him, loving the way the heat from his body transferred to her. They backed up against a wall and he ran his fingers through her thick brown hair. In turn, she ran her hands over every part of him that she could reach, the gentle way that she scratched her nails over him, giving him goose bumps up and down his body. Kissing her deeply, Edward's hand wandered over her body, over her breasts and down her stomach, all the time feeling her heartbeat continue to race. Faster, faster, faster. His breath hitched as his fingers went back to the front clasp of her bra and she pushed her lower body into his even more, causing his need to grow even harder and his yearning more urgent.

But he forced himself to slow down. He wanted to make sure to remember that this was _her_ night and that she would call the shots. He refused to let himself forget that as nervous as he was, she would undoubtedly be even more anxious and he wanted this night to be perfect for the both of them.

A quick flick of his fingers and Bella's breasts were out in the air, her nipples hardening as he gently thumbed them. She shivered at the unaccustomed contact with her breasts; pleasure sweeping over her as he gently took one pink nipple into his mouth and suckled it. Her knees buckled at the sensation and Edward quickly supported her arching back in his strong arms. Moaning in the most exquisite timbre Edward had ever heard, she clutched at his shoulders, murmuring his name over and over again.

By the time he switched to her other breasts, she was writhing and he slowly kneeled to lay her down on the carpeted floor. He knew better than to let their first time be on the floor but his baser instincts were taking over. He wanted her right there and then, and since Bella didn't seem to mind the fact that they weren't on the bed, he was fine with her unspoken assent.

He moved his mouth lower, tracing a path of fiery kisses down her stomach as he pulled off her panties. As his eyes took in the sight of bare nakedness, his heart began to race even faster and he struggled to get his own pants off, his hands no longer listening to his brain.

Unwilling to let her husband do all the work, Bella sat up and pulled Edward towards her by his belt bucket. The desire in her was burning itself out of control; her body was growing warmer and every nerve ending was on fire. She felt like she was being ignited from the inside out and the only way to douse the flames was to _be_ with her husband.

With trembling hands, she unclasped his belt and removed his pants roughly and somewhat forcefully. Yet, this time, Edward didn't care. He didn't care if Bella ripped his pants in half; he just wanted to get closer to her, to be one with her, to be so close to her that neither of them would be able to tell where they started and ended.

Finally, it was just his boxers and when that too was gone, she held him in her hand, becoming accustomed to the weight of him. He was strangely soft and yet incredibly firm at the same time. Edward's hands clenched into fists as he gripped the carpet, hovering over Bella. He didn't dare move, holding himself rigid for a moment, because he was unsure of his ability to stir without climaxing.

"Bella, Bella, baby, just slow down, just-" he panted the words, but Bella, caught up in her own world, continued fisting him and with an embarrassed shout of her name and an uncharacteristic curse, he released himself into her hand as he collapsed on top of her.

She could feel him already softening in her hand but her other hand went to rub Edward's shoulder, knowing that he probably wasn't feeling particularly good about himself. "Fuck," she heard him curse, finding the obscenity in her ear oddly arousing.

When Edward finally regained his composure enough to lift himself off Bella, his eyes were apologetic with shame. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Bella, I don't know what-" He couldn't believe he had ejaculated without even penetrating her. He had heard stories from some of his friends but he didn't think it would happen to him. He was young, he was virile, but damn, he sworn to himself, he was a virgin too.

"Ssh, it's okay." Bella used her clean hand to place a finger on Edward's lips, silencing him. "My mum told me all about this."

"And what, pray tell, did your mother say?" He took in deep breaths to steady himself but it was also an effort to will himself not to simply run and hide himself in the bathroom. His face reddened, much like in the way Bella blushed, but somehow, right now, he didn't think she would find his rosiness as endearing as he found hers to be.

Under his piercing gaze, Bella seemed to lose her concentration and stumbled on her words. "She-she just say that um, guys, uh, guys sometimes are premature rocket launchers and that uh-you know, I shouldn't get upset or surprised if-if your rocket," Bella cringed at the euphemism but carried on regardless. "If your rocket launched before you-uh, penetrate me."

Edward's eyes widened as his mind wrapped itself around her words. She wasn't surprised? _She wasn't surprised?_ They were virgins, of course, but surely sex would be something they as _humans_ couldn't fail at. He was a PhD, for crying out loud. By God, they were going to have a proper wedding night, virgins or otherwise.

"Well!" he remarked indignantly as he rubbed his nose playfully into Bella's neck, triggering a series of delighted squeals. "You give me half an hour and I'll show you a rocket launch!"


	7. Assignment 6: A Siren's Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 6 title: A Siren's Call
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Pairing: Will/Lisa [Original Fiction]
> 
> Assignment notes: Write a phone sex scene. You can write your phone-sex scene in whatever fashion you like. It can be squicky or silly or sexy. Just let your words and your characters set the mood. It can be purple or utilitarian, or poetic. Write what you are comfortable writing.
> 
> Author's note: I decided to try something new this week and went with original characters. I must admit that the majority of my knowledge on law enforcement comes from TV dramas. Also, I have no experience writing a phone sex scene and I'm not sure if this situation is plausible but I still hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to mizramanips aka Sam aka my partner in smut for beta reading and helping me with this piece.
> 
> Will is finally able to go home to his fiancée but he can't wait to be with her so he decides to surprise her with a call instead.

He missed her. God, he missed her so much.

Will dragged his exhausted body through the bullpen, his mind already shutting off and tuning out the comings and goings of the day. The police precinct was understaffed, the flu season had hit them hard, and he found himself working erratic shifts for the past few days. Finally coming off from a full 24-hour shift, his mind was lethargic and his body ready to drop. He had barely seen his fiancée in days, let alone his son, and his body was craving their touch and the warmth of home.

Collapsing into his seat, he intended to catch a few moments of sleep before driving home. Unfortunately, these shifts were nothing new and while he wanted nothing more than to rush home to see his family, he wasn't going to go straight into his car, dog-tired and risk hurling himself into a tree.

Drifting into an uneasy sleep, the hustle and bustle of the office with arrested criminals causing a ruckus periodically rousing him, he thought of his fiancée and how much he missed her. He had always wore her under his skin, a yearning deep in his bones, and it wasn't until recently that he finally felt like he wasn't going to be able to live without her, both physically and emotionally.

He loved the way her eyes would crinkle as she attempted to read without her glasses, something that amused him to no end because he knew for a fact that she was blind without them. He loved her easy smile, her intellect, and the way she was always hunched over a notebook during lunch because that was the only time she could write. He loved the smell of her, vanilla and spiced peach, and he wished he could bottle it up for days like these when he couldn't be with her.

He reached a hand into his pocket and he mindlessly groped around for his phone. He wondered how Lisa was doing, and how his, no, _their_ son was doing. When he left home to start his shift a full day earlier, Henry had been sick with the flu too, something he probably picked up from that germ-infested kindergarten. He had been worried, but not _too_ worried because he knew Lisa would take care of him nicely.

There was never any doubt in his mind that Lisa had made, and would continue to be, a wonderful mother for Henry. Henry was the child he had with an ex-girlfriend, who died during childbirth. Unprepared for fatherhood, Will did the best he could by taking extended unpaid leave when Henry came home from the hospital, barely giving himself enough time to grieve. He would have enlisted the help of his own parents had they not been living in another state and were too physically challenged to travel on their own.

Will and Lisa had met in the supermarket late one night when he had to come in to grab some medication for Henry. Struggling with a colicky baby, Will had to practically shout just to be heard by the pharmacist so when Lisa came by with her cart, she offered to take the baby off his hands for a while, just so they could have a moment of peace to themselves. She, of course, saw the hesitation in his eyes when she made the offer; after all, which parent would readily hand over their child to a complete stranger? But Will saw the sincerity in her eyes and handed Henry over, the infant immediately calming down as Lisa gently rocked him to sleep.

What started out as a purely business arrangement where Lisa would come over to take care of Henry so Will could have a few hours to himself quickly turned into affectionate feelings. He saw the care she had for his son, a complete stranger, and the level of concern she had for _him_. He saw how worried she got when he had to leave Henry for work, and saw the effort she made to cook him breakfast or bring him the occasional childcare book. He saw the innate goodness and kindness in her and when he didn't think it were possible, he fell in love with her. They had certainly come a long way, even to the point of Will proposing to Lisa three times before her acceptance of the third. She had loved him of course, him and Henry fiercely, but she had been afraid that he was only proposing to fill the void left by his ex-girlfriend. It was only after Will had been shot on the job did she realize that she didn't care if she was the replacement; she loved him too much to ever lose him.

Hitting the speed dial button on his cell phone, Will was quickly connected to their landline and he promptly shifted into a state of alertness.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Will." There was obviously a sense of relief in her tone of voice and Will felt regret. How distressed must Lisa have been every day to see him go off to work as a detective in one of the most dangerous cities in the country? He had obviously taken that luxury for granted and he made a silent vow to himself to make it up to her.

"Is Henry all right? Does he still feel warm?" He noticed his partner eyeing him subtly and realized that his Southern accent must have been getting thicker. He was originally from Louisiana and while he had managed to master a nondescript accent for work, his roots would sometimes show when he spoke to his family or his childhood friends. But he didn't care. Lisa liked his accent, even if she had to strain to understand him sometimes.

"He's much better now. I finally got him to sleep for a little while. Are you coming home soon?" He imagined her pacing the room, biting her bottom lip nervously and his spirits brightened at this thought of home.

"Soon, baby, soon." Will had intended for their call to be short and that he would leave the office in a little while but hearing her voice stirred something in him. He liked to think of himself as someone above his baser instincts, but being deprived of his fiancée's lips, her skin, the feel of her against him, he wanted to have her now. He didn't care if she was home and he was technically still at work. He wanted to show her the power she had over him and that he didn't mind if she never relinquished it.

"Are you busy now?" he asked as he stood up and made his way to a quieter hallway. Spying an empty supply closet, he let himself in discreetly, hearing the door close with a soft 'click' behind him. He slid to the ground and sat there, part drained part invigorated. He was feeling a little indecent at the thought of what he was going to do; he _had_ been exhausted just a few minutes ago and now he was eager for sex? He couldn't figure it out himself either, except that he wanted to have Lisa right there and then and he didn't care how.

"No, not really." He detected a hint of amusement in her voice and hoped that it would serve them both well later on. "I mean, I have a bit of writing I want to get done but if you're coming home now, I can get lunch started."

"Where are you sitting right now?"

"What?" There was obviously confusion in her voice and he knew her long and well enough to know that it wasn't because she couldn't understand his accent.

"Where are you sitting right now?" he repeated himself.

"Um… In your favourite chair, I suppose. The one you always have that beer in, right next to the coffee table." There that was again, that whisper of curiosity, that slight inquiry that both delighted and infuriated him at times.

"Well, when I get home, I'm going to take you in that chair. I'm going to lean you into it and I'm going to ravish you long and hard until you begged me to stop, and even then, I won't," he practically growled into the mouthpiece of his cellphone.

"Will!" Lisa sounded scandalous and with good reason too. Will chuckled quietly to himself, covering the mouthpiece with a hand. She had always been very conservative around and with him; from the time they started dating to even now. She was very traditional, though extremely loving in private; she rarely showed affection in public. When they were finally intimate, she was quiet, very quiet, and Will had to gently coax her out of her shell, until now, at least, she would murmur her pleasure or desires.

"What? I will," he insisted. He heard some ruffling noises and imagined it was probably Lisa jumping out of the chair to make sure no one would be listening in to their conversation. Oh, silly Lisa. He loosened his tie and released the top two buttons of his shirt, the stuffiness of the closet slowly getting to him.

"What's the matter with you?" she reprimanded but there was no anger in her voice, merely inquisitiveness and perhaps, a touch of arousal.

He chose to ignore her question. "Get comfortable. I want you _very_ comfortable. I am going to have my wicked way with you, and it's better if you're relaxed."

"But I-"

He cut off her protests. "Trust me. Please," he pleaded, his voice growing rough with desire and longing.

She sighed and he guessed that she was still using the handset as opposed to the speakerphone since her voice didn't sound scratchy or faraway. Hopefully, she was getting comfortable or at the very least, sitting down.

"I don't see why we're doing this. If you'd just come home now, I'll totally rock your world." She sounded petulant and this time, Will made no effort in hiding his laughter. He liked the way she said, "rock your world"; it was something she had learnt from a movie and now took to using it all the time as a euphemism for sex, like a child saying a particular word over and over again just because it was new.

"I have paperwork but believe me, I have no doubt in you rocking my world. That's why, when I get home, I'm going to rip your shirt off and my hands are going to go everywhere."

"Oh yeah?" He heard some weird noises; the rustling of fabric and the sound of their leather couch groaning and stretching. She must have been taking her shirt off. "Well, I'll pull you towards me and when we fall to the floor, you'll go on top of me." There was a pause, as if she was trying to decide how to proceed. "You know how I like it when you're on top of me."

Ah, Lisa was finally getting it. "I kiss you until your lips are red and raw." He cleared his throat as he shifted uncomfortably in his sitting position. He imagined her underneath him, writhing and already arching her back; her lips swollen from all the kissing and biting he did. "I'm touching you everywhere, your neck, your face; I'm sucking on your earlobe and you sigh, just like you always do."

"I'm touching myself the way you like it. My fingers are trailing across my body and I'm touching my breasts. I'm teasing my nipples…" And her voice lowers to a breathless whisper.

"I'm moving down and I'm biting your nipple, just a little, not enough to draw blood but you gasp and-"

"I start to pant and-"

"Tug down your panties," he rasped as he unzipped his pants and freed himself. He made a fisting motion with his hand, trying in vain to relieve the pressure as his lust surged instead.

"When you get home, these better be your own fingers," she murmured. His eyes rolled back in gratification as he imagined the sight of her; neck curved to catch every sound, only her wrist visible from her pants, and the look of complete rapture on her face. He had only recently gotten her comfortable with touching herself _down there_ and he could only imagine the pleasure she must be feeling and the rue he felt for not being there in person.

With the phone growing hot against his skin, he pushed himself to carry on. "God, I'm so hungry for you right now. I'm licking your collarbone and then the skin under your breasts and I push a finger into you…"

He heard her whimper and his hand tightens around himself, just a little, just enough pressure to drive him further. "One more finger, baby," he drawled, his southern accent becoming more pronounced. He waited with bated breath and was rewarded when Lisa let out an uncharacteristic curse.

"Fuck." Even the caress of her voice was turning him on and he knew that she must be very close to the pinnacle of her pleasure.

Every command he was giving, he was growing more and more stimulated, his eyes squeezing shut in concentration as he focused on reaching that apex himself. His base instinct need was focusing into a minute point of desire. How he wished he was there with Lisa right now, his touch hungry for the feel of her skin. He wanted to feel her writhe underneath him, wanted to be able to push himself into her as she contracted around him, wanted to feel her against him as they both propelled each other to their climax.

"Will, Will." He heard her whisper urgently and he knew she was about to go over the edge. His grip around himself tightened as his hand moved up and down even more rapidly, the insistent need to come mounting to an almost excruciating pain upon his body.

"Just a little longer," he said through clenched teeth. He heard a soft mewl and knew that if he were there, this would be the part where the pad of her fingers would dig into his back, her face scrunched up in sweet agony, her legs curling against the back of his thighs as she tried her best to hold off her release just a little longer.

Will felt his pulse racing, the thud-thud pounding so furiously in his ribcage that he thought he was about to have a heart attack, and when he heard Lisa cry out in a hushed tone, his mouth formed a soundless shout as he released himself all over his hand.

There was silence between them for a while as he heard Lisa try to catch her breath over the line. He imagined the flush on her skin; rosy and warm from the bliss of their first phone sex call. Knowing her, he supposed that she was already rummaging for tissues to straighten herself up. He himself had to cradle his phone between his neck and ear as he reached for a roll of toilet paper he found lying on a shelf. Cleaning himself up, he heard some jostling before Lisa's voice came through.

"You have one hour before I march down to the precinct and make. you. scream." Lisa paused between each of the last three words, dragging the suspension into such sweet exquisite torment. _How could it have been so atypically brazen of her to say that?_ Will thought, excited at whatever had gotten a hold of his Lisa.

He could not have rushed out of the closet any faster to start on his paperwork.


	8. Assignment 7: Lucky Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 7 title: Lucky Ones
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Twilight
> 
> Pairing: Carlisle/Esme, Human AU
> 
> Assignment notes: Write a sex scene featuring a realistic portrayal of teens doing it, getting it on, doing the horizontal mambo, etc. Awkwardness, fumbling, and the overwhelming need to satisfy your partner because you want them to enjoy it – those could all be included. No gymnastics, graphic dirty talk or massive peens.
> 
> Author's note: A line from this piece is credited to the movie, Water for Elephants. This piece was largely inspired by a friend's personal story and is dedicated to Sam and Anajean who are proof that love conquers all.
> 
> It is the Roaring Twenties but Carlisle Cullen yearns for a life outside the church his father built. Esme Evenson herself is a battered wife, trapped in a loveless marriage. Will they be able to leave their unhappy lives and emerge as two of the lucky ones?

It was a time of prosperity and a time of peace. It was the Roaring Twenties as they called it. There was the economic boom and the telephone and the movies and the automobiles. People were wealthy; women were starting to have rights, and the flappers! American culture was having a blast; there was Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein; the true greats!

And then there was Carlisle Cullen.

He was the only son of a pastor who presided over a small congregation in Columbus, Ohio. Carlisle's mother had died giving birth to him and he was subsequently raised by a never-ending parade of nannies. His father did try to spend time with him but it soon became a token effort when Carlisle realised that the church would always be his father's first love. But what his father lacked in affection and concern, his nannies made up for it by teaching him manners, courtesy, tenderness, and most importantly, a love for everyone; men andwomen, white and black.

He went to school until the age of sixteen, and subsequently dropped out to help his father with his churchly duties. Carlisle had initially hoped to secure a job with the nearby automobile factory but when it became clear that his father was looking to him to continue the family vocation, he put aside his aspirations for a life of the church.

He did, however, continue his hobbies of art and books even though his father disapproved of them. Those were hobbies of luxury and even though America was prospering, religion was not synonymous with money, and the pastor preferred if his son stopped engaging in distracting diversions.

Yet, the pastor never dreamt that distracting diversions would come in the form of Esme Anne Platt Evenson.

Carlisle first saw Esme in church after the customary Sunday services. He was standing in front of the altar with his father, the two of them shaking and greeting members of the congregation. Wanting to maintain the illusion that both father and son knew every one of their followers, the pastor would occasionally bend down and whisper the name of the parishioner approaching. Carlisle said the usual 'how are yous' and 'how is your family' and 'would you like me to pray for you' and it was right after he had shook the hand of Mrs. Macy did he lay eyes upon _her_.

"Mrs. Evenson," he greeted politely as the lady and her husband approached to shake hands. Dressed conservatively in a sundress and a cardigan, he waited for her to lift her head in order to see her eyes. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to God that Charles Evenson was in deep conversation with his own father for what he saw damn near took his breath away. She had beautiful caramel hair nearly hidden under a cloche hat, a heart-shaped face with pretty red lips and she cut a slender figure in her white and blue outfit.

Despite the white gloves she wore, Esme Anne Platt Evenson felt a charge of electricity running from Carlisle's touch all the way to the tips of her toes. She knew nothing much of the boy, who was merely three years younger than she was, but in that moment felt a strange sort of kinship with him. She felt like he had seen right through her, as if he had known her throughout her entire life

"Mr. Cullen." She smiled courteously as she did a small curtsey. The flappers might have been taking over the nation but Esme knew better than to emulate them, especially not when she had Charles Evenson for a husband. She still maintained the decorum expected of proper ladies of her standing and was slightly surprised when Carlisle bowed ever so slightly. Charles had never bowed to her, perhaps once or twice while courting her, but never since their marriage.

Carlisle was about to enquire on her health and asked if she needed him to pray for her when his father's conversation with Charles Evenson came to an abrupt end. Carlisle knew little about the lanky bespectacled businessman in front of him, clearly dressed in his Sunday best, but detected an odd sense of falsity in the way he smiled at him. It became even more obvious to him when he saw Esme's posture stiffen and her smile freeze. They briefly shook hands and when he said his goodbyes to the couple, there was the briefest flash of panic in Esme's eyes as Charles, recently returned from the war, placed his arms around her shoulder to lead her away.

If his nannies taught him nothing else, they taught Carlisle how to _read_ people. They mostly taught him the skill so that he could better tell when not to bother his father whenever he was in one of his moods, but it was a skill that stuck with him.

He saw how the oppressive heat of the morning was slowly melting Esme's makeup to reveal the shadow of a bruise on her cheek. He saw the subtle too-tight grip Charles had on Esme's shoulders, the minute clenching of fists after they shook hands and the half-second baring of teeth when he must have felt resistance in leading Esme away.

Carlisle looked to his father by his side and as he watched him greet more churchgoers, he wondered how the pastor could preach about rebuking the devil when he could not even see the beast in front of him.

* * *

If any of the Evenson's neighbours found it strange that the pastor's son was suddenly making regular appearance in their neighbourhood, they said nothing. After all, what trouble could he possibly be up to? After his first meeting with Esme, it did not take Carlisle long to realize that he had to do something about the situation. Perhaps he could not do much, having only recently turned eighteen years of age, but surely any other man, certainly a man of God, would not have just walked away from a woman clearly troubled.

So like clockwork, he would arrive every Monday in the rickety old Ford Model-T the church had, which the Hale family donated. Carlisle's father was immensely grateful for the contribution; with the automobile, it was easier to run errands, to transport heavy materials. At the same time, the pastor felt that it was also his duty to share the gift with his parish, and so when his son turned up requesting provisions for the old and homeless in exchange for minor repair works, no one thought it alarming.

Esme knew that she should send Carlisle away, that she shout not be encouraging his silly teenage infatuation. For weeks, he would help her carry heavy objects; conduct minor household repairs, little things that he would also offer other homes. But she knew that for her alone, he would give her surreptitious glances and ask pointed questions on how her husband was. She knew that she should stop whatever it was that Carlisle was hoping to achieve, that she was a married woman and that she should be content with her life. But how could she be content in this life? How could she be content with a husband who beat her without any provocation, at the slightest sign of displeasure; who would easily turn the public against her should she report him because who was going to believe her over respectable, well-mannered, gentle Charles Evenson? Her own parents had counselled her to be a good wife and to remain silent and the authorities were never going to believe that Charles Evenson, a man who attended church regularly and helped out at soup kitchens, was a wife beater.

"Mr. Cullen –" she once began after the third week or so of him offering to repair the roof, to repair the plumbing, to help mow her lawn. She had invited him in to retrieve the canned goods she intended to donate to his cause but she could now see her mistake. Of course, Charles was well aware of the younger man's weekly visits, but either he was too arrogant to think him a threat, or too oblivious to the clues, he never called Carlisle out on it. But _she_ was growing more and more afraid; it was only a matter of time before Charles' delusions got the better of him and he would accuse her of adultery.

"Please, Mrs. Evenson, please call me Carlisle," he politely interrupted.

She cleared her throat and somehow, her voice sounded a little more confident than she felt. "Well, Mr. _Cullen_ –" She noticed how his face fell at the emphasis of his last name and she felt a twinge of guilt. But she brushed it aside for she had more important matters at hand. "It is all good and well that you have helped me with the house but surely you must see that I _am_ a married woman." She gave him a knowing look before relenting a little, her eyes not so harsh, her body not so rigid. She patted his shoulder lightly, almost _motherly_. "You are a charming young man. I am certain you will find a beautiful girl for yourself someday and you will have a beautiful life with her."

Carlisle looked at her in silence, his eyes fixed onto her face. Then, as if the thought had suddenly dawned upon him, he spoke. It might have been a question but they both knew that it was simply a statement, an unquestionable fact. "But _you_ are a beautiful woman, Mrs. Evenson. Do you not also deserve a beautiful life?"

When Esme saw the sincerity, and perhaps the naivety, in his eyes, it took everything in her power not to simply fall into his arms and to cry out her sorrows. Her heart now belonged to Carlisle Cullen, the one person she could not fall in love with.

* * *

Esme did not count herself particularly deceitful but the moment Carlisle invited her to the cinema, she found herself immediately thinking of plausible excuses to fool Charles. She was no quiff but Carlisle wanted to take her to watch _The Jazz Singer_ , and she just _had_ to say yes, because all the other ladies were praising the technology behind it. To have _sound_ with pictures, what a delight! The last film Charles brought her to watch, he spent the entire time with his hand up her evening dress, leaving her quite red-faced.

As luck would have it, Charles had to go out of town one week and Carlisle and Esme quickly made plans to meet for the movie. It felt strange to her; this sort of illicit, clandestine relationship they were having. Her heart was constantly hammering against her chest, as if her secret was to be discovered at any moment. Her hands were always clammy; there was a sort of tightness in her throat all the time, and her stomach seemed to be in a perpetual state of heaving.

But this was a good sort of anxiety, almost anticipation really. She had never experienced this with Charles. When he courted her, there was simply no excitement. His pursuit of her had been typical; they would sit on the front porch, or sometimes the parlour and they would mostly talk about insipid topics, because they both knew that their marriage was already guaranteed.

Whereas Carlisle! He was so different; so animated and intense! Perhaps it was because he was still very much a child, only eighteen, but he had so much life in him! She felt fiery in his presence, ready to take on the world, a feeling she had never encountered in all her twenty-one years.

Yet she did not dare take on the world. Carlisle once proposed running away, right after their second date. "Just you and me. I will take you anywhere you want to go," he had said, the words rushing out of his mouth in a gush, the urgency pounding like his heart. But Esme only smiled feebly and gave his shoulder a pat and he felt stupid for even suggesting it. Right then, he knew he probably loved her more than she did him, that he was most likely just a welcomed distraction from her miserable life. Yet, he did not care. Distraction or otherwise, he was mad about her and if a distraction was what she needed, he was willing to be whatever she wanted him to be.

Nevertheless that did not stop them from stealing kisses in the dead of night. She knew what they were doing was wicked, but Carlisle made her come alive in a way Charles never could and would. For her sins, she knew that her immortal soul was already lost but if a man like Charles could still enter church and not be stricken, surely the Lord could forgive her? It was Carlisle who made her finally believe in the existence of a God again, because who could be both cruel and kind to have let Carlisle into her life?

Esme hid their affair well and they made sure no one was to see them together in public, not in broad daylight. The only time that even happened was when they saw each other in church and they made sure not to look at each other for too long, not to hold lingering gazes as their bodies yearned for each other.

For weeks, they continued in this fashion, meeting under the guise of night. Esme hid their relationship well, and no one was the wiser but each time Carlisle saw the bruises on her skin, it was as if someone had taken a knife to his chest and plunged it in. She assured him that it was not his fault, but that Charles was an unreasonable man who saw thieves in shadows and demons in mirrors. She told him that she was used to it by now, but each time he removed her cardigan and he saw the bruises, all in different stages of healing, he only felt blades and gashes upon his back.

When they first did It, in the shabby automobile Carlisle drove no less, Esme believed herself to be finally completed in a way that God meant for man and woman to be. She was, of course, no untried woman, having already consummated her marriage with Charles, but with Carlisle, she found herself reduced to a teenager, a girl but fifteen being touched by a man for the first time. Carlisle himself was not chaste, having lost his own virtue at fourteen to a girl not much older than him in a farmhouse outside of town. Even so, one touch by Esme's hand and he was reduced to nothingness, desperate for more.

His hands were rough with calluses, having to carry timbre and rough materials for the building of the church, but he was gentle with his touch. His fingers skimmed the smoothness of her belly as he lifted up her Basque dress, her body shivering from the coolness of the night. His kisses were pure fire as he tried to prove his undying devotion and love to her. Her fingers trembled as she carefully removed his jacket and then white linen shirt, and when her hands finally came into contact with his bare skin; she turned pink in the face for the fact that she was touching someone other than her husband.

There was not much room in the motorcar and so they were tightly pressed up against each other; yet, it only gave them the awareness that they were joined so closely, there was no knowing where he ended and she began. They were quiet, sharing light kisses and whispering hush words of affections. Carlisle knew that such a day would come, when they would ultimately give into their mutual affection and pleasure but he _had_ hoped that he could give her a place better than the backseat of his, no, not even _his_ , motorcar, but given their circumstances, they had to make do. He was ashamed, not because of their dalliance but for the fact that he could not provide for her.

Their naked bodies were sweaty and Esme's hair was coming undone from the pins keeping it in place, but she did not care. This was how she was meant to look, she thought, as her back ached under Carlisle's ministrations, her clutching onto him for support. Her fingers pressed into his back as he kissed the side of her jaw, losing himself in her scent, touch and body.

When Carlisle finally entered her, she very nearly burst into tears, not from the wrongness of it all but from the pleasure she had never felt with her own husband. He kissed her neck, her shoulder where the bruises were, and her lips with a hunger that could never be satiated. He wanted to make sure that she was taking pleasure in their union; he loathed imagining that Charles Evenson could never make a woman like Esme happy. When she gave a quiet exclamation of her gratification, Carlisle knew that in that precise moment, there was a special place in hell for people like him. Yet he did not care and he certainly did not feel any woe or sorrow when he gave in to his own satisfaction later on.

* * *

"I am with child."

Carlisle felt his heart literally skip a beat. No, this could not be happening! They were careful, taking every precaution they could think of. After their first time, he made sure to withdraw from her at the very last moment. A child borne of him would certainly not look like Charles Evenson and he could not bring that sort of public shame to Esme.

"It is his." Her voice trembled with fear as she looked to him, her eyes full of unshed tears. Her lips quivered as she wringed her hands in her lap. For a second, he felt relief. The baby would not have his features but then his reasoning returned. When she had sent word to him that morning to meet forthright, he had feared the worst: Charles had discovered their love. But beholding the look on Esme's face, _this_ was true fear. He thought he had known what it felt like when he was ten and his father had caught him stealing but such was the comfort of childhood.

"Does he know?" he asked with urgency and noted a small sense of relief when she shook her head. Meeting like this, in broad daylight and in the church's automobile, could surely set tongues wagging but he could not trouble himself to care. He had grave matters at hand.

There was a pause and at once, his mind was made up. He knew his decision would forever change his life, but Esme had already done so and there could be no turning back from her.

"Run away with me!" he announced, taking her hands quite suddenly into his. "We will get as far away as we can. I can find us work anywhere and I will raise the child as my own and when you are well again, you can teach. Didn't you once say that you wanted to teach? The West has –" He was rambling now but he had to get his words all out. He would take Esme away from here, finally away from the vile husband of hers and –

"Carlisle, no!" Her rejection immediately brought him back into the present. "I-I cannot. I-This, this will never work!"

"Listen to me! We can just take the car and we will run and no one will ever find –"

"You're just a child, Carlisle!" she shouted, so uncharacteristic of her that had they not been arguing, it would have scared Carlisle.

"I am a man, and a hundred times better than Charles Evenson!" His temper erupted and he slammed his fist into his back seat, making her jump. She flinched at the mention of her husband but he continued, this time in a softer but no less distressed tone. "You will not leave before, I could never convince you and I was certain you would die in this town. You would _die_ by his hands and there would be nothing I could do to stop it.

"Now I _can_. I can take you away and save you from him, but please, _please_ just let me," he implored and quite suddenly, he crumpled forward, his head in Esme's lap as he cried loud, wretched sobs. The first time he ever cried and it was over a woman. "Please, I can bear it no longer," he whimpered.

Esme cried too, and they cried together for a long moment. She cried because she was trapped in her awful marriage, because they had not met earlier, because for once she put her heart before anything else and she ended up hurting the man she loved more than the world. When her tears finally dried, she knew what she had to do. She had never nerved herself to do something that frightened her but now, she must. She could not possibly bring a child into that hollow shell of a home.

She squeezed his hand and when he looked up, he saw grim determination. He knew what that meant; that their lives would be difficult in the years to come, but they would have each other.

* * *

They moved West, having little more than the clothes on their back. After Esme's revelation, they quickly arranged their features and made their separate way home. They met later again that night, Carlisle carrying a small bag of his clothing and possessions. He had written a note to his father about his intentions, a lie that had him moving East to pursue a life of his own dreams. It mentioned nothing of Esme but Carlisle knew that within the week, everyone in town would make the connection and his father would know the truth.

Esme was fortunate that Charles was getting himself sloshed at the speakeasy when she gathered what few belongings she had. As she rushed out of her marital home, she no longer cared if the neighbours saw her acting the way she was, running away with her bags. She was done with this life; she wanted no more to do with Columbus, Ohio.

They took the church's automobile, an act Carlisle regretted, and the next day, they found a justice of the peace who, for a small sum, married them under the assumed name of Carlisle and Esme Mason. They finally settled in Mississippi, Carlisle having found work as a mechanic and Esme as a teacher. When Esme delivered a healthy baby boy some months later, Esme felt both sad and relieved; their son would be a constant reminder of the life she tolerated and the life she now lived.

True to his word, Carlisle raised Edward as if the boy was his own and both husband and wife never told Edward of his true parentage, unwilling to go through the pain themselves. The Great Depression hit them hard, as it did many Americans, but they survived. By the 40s, Carlisle and Esme went on to have two more children, a son named Emmett and a daughter named Alice.

In the years to come, Carlisle often thought about his father, surely a tired, old man by now. He thought about how disappointed he must have been when his only son ran away with a married woman. He imagined himself picking up the telephone to speak to his father but he simply could not fathom how the conversation would go. In the end, he came to the conclusion that perhaps Columbus, Ohio should remain as nothing more than a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slang references:
> 
> It – sexual pleasure
> 
> squiff – a slut or cheap prostitute
> 
> speakeasy – (during Prohibition) an illicit liquor store or nightclub


	9. Assignment 8: Dial Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 8 title: Dial Five
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Pairing: Will/Lisa [Original Fiction]
> 
> Assignment notes: This may be different than what you're used to, but light on the sex this week. No sealing the deal, no rounding home, no penetration (not completely, anyway.) Give us your best Unresolved Sexual Tension.
> 
> Author's note: The reason why this piece is a lot longer than my others is because I tried doing the "4 times they didn't, 1 time they did" sort of story but it just got away from me. I still hope you like it though.
> 
> Also, this precedes the events that happened in Assignment 6. You don't have to read it beforehand but if you're curious for their back-story and for what happens to them after this O/S, please feel free to do so. :)
> 
> Five Times Will and Lisa (almost) had a little fun of their own.

**1\. Hunger**

They read each other's mind perfectly. Henry was finally asleep and it was the first time in nights that he and Lisa had to themselves. No cranky Henry, no erratic shifts from the precinct, no Lisa passed out on the couch waiting for him in the middle of the night.

It was just he and Lisa and a box of chocolates.

The chocolates were an afterthought. The moment Lisa came tiptoeing out of Henry's room, smiling and whispering, "he's asleep", Will thought now was any good a time for them to have some fun together. As Lisa went straight into the bedroom, he made his way to the kitchen, hoping for some strawberries, maybe even a can of whipped cream, but all they had was a box of chocolates. At least it was Lisa's favourite, mint dark chocolates.

When he opened his bedroom door, his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting, made so by the few candles she must have lighted. He found her lying on the bed, leaning against the headrest and completely naked. There was an impish grin on her face and he could barely make out the rosy pink colour on her cheeks, as if she herself could not believe that she was doing this. Her teeth pulled at her bottom lip as she crossed her legs, crooking a finger to motion him forward.

He couldn't stop staring; his heart racing as every single nerve in his body came alive. He felt like a live trip wire, like anything could set him off and if Lisa was playing this her way, boy was he in trouble.

Will quickly shed his own clothes, and carrying the box of chocolates with him, he climbed into bed with her. She reached out for him and when he leaned into her, the box of chocolates laid forgotten, for the moment, by their sides. Lisa put her arms around his neck and in an atypical saucy move; she thrust her breasts out, her legs uncrossing so that he could kneel in front of her, between her thighs. He kissed her, feeling a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction just from looking at her. It had been nights since they were last intimate and while he would not consider himself addicted to sex, he was _definitely_ addicted to _her_ , her scent, her taste, and her touch. They were his entire undoing.

Pulling back, he held her gaze as she watched him reach for the box of chocolate. Opening it, he took a piece and gently slid it into her opened mouth, her tongue swirling at his finger for the briefest of moment. This time, instead of kissing her again, Will put one hand on the delicate skin of her soft throat, his thumb pressing against the front, while the other moved gently over her shoulder and then dropped down to her breasts. As she ate the chocolate, enjoying the delicious rich flavour of the cocoa and mint, she watched as he cupped a breast, gently, and began to squeeze and massage it, his fingers brushing across her nipple.

It was wonderful, intimate and downright blissful to have his hands on her. She arched her back as a sign for more, more touching, more feeling, just _more_. The chocolate in her mouth was gone by now but she reckoned she knew what Will was trying to do next.

Both hungers were going to be satisfied tonight.

As she reached for another piece of chocolate, both of Will's hands moved to her breasts, palming, touching, caressing, and nipping. Her eyes squeezed shut at the sensations; both the feel of him on her and the luscious bittersweet yet cool taste of the chocolate. With a low groan, he moved even further down, his mouth now pressed against her wetness. When he blew air right onto her, she cried out, her hips jerking. His hands pressed down on her forearms, keeping them securely in place on either side of her body as he teased her, his tongue tracing patterns that she was very much aware of. She let out a long, low moan, her hips rubbing up and down as he pressed his lips gently against her, her body aching for more contact from him.

"More, please," she pleaded, no longer caring about something as mundane as chocolates.

Will nipped at her, the sharp bite sending a burst of pleasurable pain through her body and she rocked. His tongue slid between her tender folds, teasing and licking, rubbing her most sensitive places with its ridged texture. When he pressed his face down, stiffened his tongue and darted it inside of her, she clutched at his arms, fingers digging in as she thrashed with passion. The unexpected shooting pain from her nails breaking his skin caused him to yelp a little, the vibrations sending yet another wave of pleasure through her.

Heated moans filled the air as he suckled at her, gently biting and pulling her into his mouth. She writhed and trembled, her breasts wobbling as he pleasured her, unable to control her own body's reactions to the heated bliss that was rising inside of her. She was close, so very close, and she wanted Will inside of her proper. He had never made her feel like this before; so sensual, so alive, and she wanted more. She wanted _him_ , not just his lips, or even his fingers; she wanted him and she wanted him _now_.

Holding back her gratification for just a little while longer, she sat up to pull him towards her. She kissed him deeply, the taste of her still upon his lips, and she laid back down again, pulling him down with her. Something pushed into her, one of his fingers, and her body quivered in response.

"Enough, enough, just-just," she panted, her eyes barely seeing straight from the multitude of pleasures he was making her feel. "I want you now."

Immediately, Will understood and for a quick moment, Lisa felt shock at the loss of the sensation of his hand. Before she could register any more surprise, she felt him pushing against her, just the tip and it was enough. Her head fell back as he lowered his to nip at her neck. His body trembled from the exertion of holding himself back; sweat covered the both of them, and just as he was about to bury himself in her, to bring themselves both to their climax, the phone on their bedside table rang.

Will collapsed onto Lisa, not because he had reached the height of his ecstasy but due to exasperation, knowing that doing so would probably be impossible now. Lisa felt the wind get knocked out of her and wondered why Will had stilled when she finally registered the phone ringing.

"Fuck," Will cursed under his breath as Lisa gave him a quick kiss on the lips before reaching out for the phone. He was still shaking, practically trembling from the strain his body had just been through. "This better be important."

* * *

**2\. The Show**

Inside, the club was dark, the only lighting coming from the overhead strobe lights. Will wasn't used to such a place, he tended to frequent pubs and bars for his beers, where there were darts, and jukeboxes and fellow officers relaxing on their night off. He didn't, as a habit, went to clubs, but tonight was one of Lisa's gigs and he wasn't going to miss this for the world.

If not for the fact that Lisa was the front woman of Lisa and the Boys, they were hardly a band Will would consider going to a club for even. Truth was, it wasn't really a band so much as Lisa's friends made some great cover music and needed a female vocalist. He hadn't known Lisa had such a great voice too, but the first time he heard her sing, he thought she must have been a choir member sometime in her life.

_Would you be mine?_

_Would you be my baby tonight?_

As Will listened to Lisa sing yet another cover, he pulled at his shirt collar a little, the temperature in the club rising. He had a nice table overlooking the stage, but it was off to the side, something he appreciated, as he didn't fancy crowds. The ventilation of the club wasn't very good though, and combined with the patrons, all sweaty and dancing to the music, he felt a little uncomfortable.

It was fascinating though, watching Lisa sing because on stage, it was as if she transformed into someone else entirely. Someone who wasn't afraid to flirt, or bat her eyelids at him, or crook her finger in a come-hither fashion. Her hips would sway to the music, her arms would hug her body close and she would bite her lips in the most sensual manner, all the time while her eyes were locked onto his. She would transform into an incredibly sultry siren and he knew that it was all for him. No matter how mesmerized the other guys in the club were by her voice, or how hypnotised they were by her looks; he knew that she was his. She was only his and he got to be the one who she brought home every night.

She made his eyes burn from the temptation, burn from the knowledge that he couldn't have her, not yet at least. He watched as she enticed him with those sexy bedroom eyes, the ones she created while applying her makeup back home. His body was already reacting to her, his need growing more insistent to the point that he was glad for the darkness of the club; he would be far too embarrassed otherwise. His nails dug into his thigh as he stared at the way she sauntered across the stage, urging himself to just calm down, calm down a little.

It was with great relief when they finished the song and Lisa said into the microphone that they were going to take a quick break. The boys came off stage, immediately looking for a beer when Will came over, giving them a quick wave hello. They broke into hoots of laughter and catcalling as Will took Lisa's hand and tugged her into a small, dark corner.

"Remember how you always tell me that I do stupid things, especially stupid things in public?" he spoke quickly, as if he had been waiting to say the words for months, instead of only a few minutes.

"Yes…" she drawled. Lisa knew that look in Will's eyes, but this time, she couldn't be sure if it were an idea she would entirely hate.

"I'm about to do one of those things. Indulge me?" he asked. Lisa gave a quick nod by way of an answer and straightaway; he pulled her with him into the ladies' room, not caring if anyone saw them, which the Boys most certainly did.

Will and Lisa were in luck with the ladies' room being vacant. He locked the door behind them and even though the two of them, Lisa in particular, never had an inclination for public sex, they did have a sense of adventure. Locking the door seemed like a good compromise. Lisa felt a sly thrill run through her. She could just _die_ from the fact that she was being so indecent at the moment but she did always liked to challenge herself. This was just another challenge, she thought to herself; secretly pleased with Will's initiative.

She was sweaty and sticky from the heat of the stage lights but it bothered neither of them. He felt her push him back against the door, and she lifted his shirt just enough to kiss his toned chest and down across every ripple of his stomach. But he wasn't interested in Lisa pleasuring him in this manner tonight. He pulled her up and kissed her a little rougher than usual, her hands touching her breasts through her dress. He grabbed her and rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and electricity shot through her as he tweaked her nipple and her chest heaved in anticipation.

"You know what you are?" he asked breathlessly, even though he wasn't really waiting for an answer. "You're dangerous." He endured almost a dozen songs of her singing in that seductive manner of hers and he just couldn't take it anymore.

Her fingers were wrapped up in his hair, slightly pulling and tugging as their tongues explored each other, thoroughly and intimately. With almost no time to lose, Will lifted Lisa off her feet, her legs wrapped around his waist and he turned them around so that she now leaned against the door. He lifted up her dress, his callused hands tickled her thighs, a sensation she was used to but by no means, found any less arousing. His fingers moved to where she was aching the most and he touched her through the thin fabric of her panties, her body shuddering from the contact.

Lisa sighed in delight, as her head hit the door not too gracefully. She loved the newness of the situation, the strangeness and the delicious naughtiness, knowing that just a few feet away, there were at least a hundred people in the club, oblivious to what they were getting up to on the other side of the door.

She writhed in delicious agony, gripping Will's shoulder with quite some force. He leaned into her further, causing her to groan into his ear. He would have reached to pull down her panties when Lisa felt a rhythmic tapping on the other side of the door.

"Yo, Will!" They heard Ben, one of Lisa's band mate call out from behind the door. "Unless you need Lee to show you how to piss or something, we need her on stage like now!"

They heard a smattering of laughter before it dispersed. Despite Ben's alert, they remained in their position for a few moments, Will leaning his head on to the door, right next to Lisa's. "They're lucky I didn't bring my back-up tonight," he semi-growled. She laughed but was soon cut off when he pressed his erection against her.

"Fuck you," she sighed, her uncharacteristic curse turning into rue and meekness as he grinded his hips against her and made her go weak in the knees.

"I very much intend to," he whispered into her ear, kissing her earlobe very gently.

* * *

**3\. Not Daddy's Little Girl**

"The nerve of him! The nerve!" Lisa complained the minute the front door swung opened and she stepped through it. Will had been in the kitchen, fixing himself something to eat, and poked his head out when he heard Lisa.

"Dinner not so good?" Will didn't really have to ask. He knew that Lisa had gone home to have dinner with her family and it surely couldn't have been a very good one. Her parents never really approved of him; the Kiads were strictly upper class and were considered practically royalty in certain business circles. He barely made sixty thousand a year and had baggage in the form of a son. The first time they ever had dinner together was their one and only, and it was the first time he ever really considered contemplate violence against another human being. Lisa's mother had been nice, mostly because her upbringing dictated politeness, but Lisa's father was condescending and made snide comments about how their family was too good for him.

Lisa hung her coat on the hanger and then promptly collapsed onto the couch. "He's unbelievable!" She groused as Will came to sit beside her. "He kept going on and on about George, and how he was in town and I should do the civil thing and invite him to lunch even though we broke up like forever ago. Can you believe him?"

Will simply shrugged and buried his head on her neck, kissing her gently on her collarbone. He learned a long time ago that when Lisa complained about her parents, she wasn't looking for an answer; she simply wanted a listening ear. Besides, it was an unspoken agreement that after Lisa defied her parents and continued dating him, he wouldn't talk about her family and her family wouldn't talk about him.

"How could he?" Will's kisses did nothing to soften her indignation as Lisa's rage continued to burn. "He _knows_ we're together. How could he act like you're nobody?" Lisa sighed in exasperation as she gently pried his lips away from her neck, her body slightly lamenting the loss of the warmth he provided. "Will, I'm serious."

"So am I," he insisted even though they both knew that it wasn't true. He loved her, she knew that, but he did his best to avoid any confrontation involving her parents. His pride wouldn't allow for much of Mr. Kaid's snobbishness.

"Do you think I should just give my dad a heart attack and tell him about the truth of George? That his precious protégé only went out with me because he wanted to get into his good books?" Lisa asked, despite the fact that she could never do such a thing.

"Just forget about your dad," he urged as he went back to kissing her neck. He felt her relax a little, the tension in her body leaving, and he smiled against her skin. Quite unexpectedly, she pushed him off and manoeuvred herself to straddle him. Will quivered as Lisa started peeling away his clothes. He wasn't used to this, Lisa being so bold with her affections. He loved the way she looked at him, with excitement, anticipation, and just a touch of ferocity. She was usually so prim and proper; even in their moments of intimacy, she was so quiet, something that both excited and maddened him.

Involuntarily, his body pressed into hers, his hips arching a little higher for contact. His shirt was now off, and Lisa raked her nails gently down his chest, the prickly sensation sending shivers down his spine. She kissed him deeply; her need becoming an itch she couldn't scratch. She was going to prove to herself, to her dad, that Will was the guy for her. She started rocking her hips as Will played with her waist, running his hands up and down it, her flimsy shirt following the movements.

Lisa whimpered and her hands went to his belt buckle. She fumbled with it a little and when Will's hands went to cover hers, she thought he wanted to remove it himself, but instead, he only shook his head.

"Lisa, not like this," he pleaded, even though it was obvious to Lisa that his body wanted her as much as she wanted him.

"You kissed me," she retorted, her lips slightly pouting in such an adorable way that he couldn't help but reach out and kiss her again.

"Yes, _kiss_ ," he emphasized. "I'm not heartless, I'm not going to come on to you while you're vulnerable." He pulled away from her but continued stroking her collarbone gently.

"What if I want you to?"

"Please don't make me do something we'll both regret."

"Like what?" Lisa could hardly believe what he was saying. She wasn't some nymphomaniac but she thought he would at least be receptive to what she had in mind.

"Like have sex as retaliation against your father," he said matter-of-factly. His hands still went to rub her back in long, soothing strokes but he hoped she saw it as a comforting gesture and not as an insistence to go any further.

"I hate it when you're right," she agreed quietly as she laid her head on his chest, her cheek warm against his equally heated body.

He looked down to where she was seated on his lap and his head fell back. "Trust me, I hate it too," he sighed.

* * *

**4\. Tall Drink of Water**

Will should have just kept his big mouth shut.

He only meant to _tease_ her about tripping over one of Henry's toys and landing on her arm wrong to the point that she fractured it. It wasn't like Lisa had no idea about Henry's nasty habit of leaving his toys, particularly his Legos, around the apartment. In fact, _she_ was the one who went around collecting his trinkets every day, always reminding him to keep them in the huge toy chest they bought him last month.

Really, he only laughed a little. It wasn't very loud or very long but now, she was going to punish him instead.

He watched as she changed into the smallest pair of black shorts she owned, his eyes lingering on her curvaceous frame, her body quite shapely from the running she liked to do and the occasional yoga lesson she could spare. He liked that her skin was now a light shade of sienna, courtesy of the frequent trips she had been taking with Henry to the beach.

"Could you help me wash my hair? I can't do it with one hand," she asked as she bent over, giving Will a good look of her derrière. His heart started to race at the thought of his hands caressing her flesh, his mind turning to wicked, wicked thoughts when he heard Lisa's voice once more.

"Will?" He saw an eye peek out from the window of her let-down hair as she knelt and rummaged through the bottom drawer for whatever it was she wanted to find, he supposed. "Could you give me a hand?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah, of course!" he agreed, scrambling to his feet. Truthfully, he didn't care if Lisa was trying to get back at him for laughing at her arm; he now simply wanted to press himself up against her, to have her trembling and weak at his touch, to lick that spot at her neck that would have her shuddering. He wanted to have her sigh his name and arch herself towards him, her body so soft and perfect beneath his.

Rising to her feet, and with her back towards him, she managed to unhook the clasp of her bra with some measure of difficulty and then, turning to look at him over her shoulder, she winked. "Come on, I don't have all day."

Oh, she was definitely getting back at him.

The thing about bones was that 'fracture' and 'broken' typically meant the same thing; her arm hurt and it had to be in the sling. Lisa didn't want to get the sling wet though, so she took it off and ignoring the throbbing pain; she cradled it closer to her as she sat on the edge of the bathtub, her knees to her chest. Will, in turn, sat behind her and took the showerhead out of its holder, tilting Lisa's head back as he started his task by wetting her hair.

Squeezing a small amount of shampoo into his palm, he rubbed it into Lisa's hair, the viscous substance lathering up fairly quickly. As he slowly made sure her hair was being thoroughly cleaned, Will had to admit that this gesture was oddly soothing and therapeutic. Perhaps it was the fact that it was simply just the two of them, the sounds of their even breathing reverberating against the cool, white tiles. No Henry screaming in protest of his bath time, no looming deadline at having to get their family out of the house for a trip to see his parents, no pressure, no rush.

It was just he and Lisa and the scent of vanilla and spiced peach. Lisa who was practically naked. Lisa whose bare back looked completely indecent, completely inviting to his touch. Lisa's head tilted back of her own volition and he worked the foam deeper into the roots, his eyes focusing on the expanse of her back, on the sight of just the curve of her breasts from his vantage point, on the arc of her lower back, where the top of her shorts barely began to cover her buttocks.

Lisa closed her eyes as she took pleasure in the way Will was washing her hair. If she knew he had such a knack for it, she would have asked him to do it a long time ago. His fingers, possessing such gentle strength, were strong as he massaged her, working the shampoo through her hair. The way his fingers moved, God, how they affected her so. Even now, she remembered the feel of them on her skin, on her neck, on her breasts, trailing down, down, down to just her hipbone where Will liked to linger. He enjoyed watching her squirm, just a little, as he drew patterns and shapes, the rough calluses on her fingers providing such wonderful tortuous friction to her smooth skin.

When Will was finally satisfied that her hair had been washed down to the last strand, his soapy hands moved down to her back, tenderly rubbing as his hands encircled her waist. He moved forward to be closer to Lisa and was delighted when she scooted back, indicating her interest as well.

He didn't care if he was getting her body all wet and soapy or that his own shirt was wet from pressing up against her back. He couldn't take it any longer. The need to be with her, the need to have her as closer to him as humanly possible was too strong; he was practically seeing stars, it was all he could think about.

Lisa leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder and he took the opportunity to kiss her from the neck to her shoulder, his hands coming around to cup her breasts. Careful that he would not put pressure on her injured arm in any way, he massaged her breasts, taking each nipple with his fingers and giving them a light squeeze and tweak. She moaned, the sensation of both pain and pleasure administering her such a high that she squeezed her thighs together, just to take the edge off a little, just to hold off for a little while longer.

Will drew lazy patterns around and on her breasts and by the time he trailed down to her breastbone and down her abdomen, Lisa was panting slightly, clearly concentrating on the fact that she wasn't ready, not yet anyway. His now-sudsy hands went further down, fingering with the top of her shorts and just as he was about to pull them down, she stopped him with her one good hand.

She turned around to face him, her cheeks rosy from the pleasure he was giving her. "My arm's broken and you want to seduce me _here_? In a wet, slippery bathroom with soap all over us?"

"I _am_ a man." He shrugged.

Her eyes quickly darted down and she was not surprised that like her, he too was having a little trouble starving off his pleasure. "That you most definitely are." Her eyes gleamed mischievously as his eyes widened in surprise, incredulous that Lisa could be so saucy.

"Think I'll teach you something about giving me sass," he mock-chided as he leaned forward to kiss those red, red lips of hers. He grabbed a hold of her even as she tried to squirm away from his reach. He was going to kiss her and bite her until her lips turned plump and raw and even then he wasn't going to stop, not unless she begged him.

Without warning, they were both startled by a frenzied banging on the door. They stopped everything as they held themselves still, bracing for whomever it was coming through the door.

"Momma, pee-pee now!"

* * *

**5\. No Remedy for Love but to Love More**

Had it not been the presence of the nurse, Lisa probably would have simply burst into tears upon seeing Will.

It had been a completely ordinary morning, for them at least. She had awoken at six-forty-five in the morning, with much nudging from Will, and after brushing her teeth, went to make breakfast for the both of them and Henry. The day had gone on like routine; Will left the apartment at seven-thirty and after sending Henry off to day care, Lisa settled down back at home to prepare for hours of household chores and laundry.

The call came in at eleven, interrupting her ironing. It wasn't a number she recognized, only that the extension seemed like it was from the precinct. "Lisa, it's Clark. I need you to remind calm, all right? Could you do that for me?"

She knew it could not be good. After all, hadn't all those police dramas on TV include such a scene? But she forced herself to remain calm. Clark, Will's partner, would never seek to cause panic for no good reason. She ignored the almost deafening pounding of her heart against her ribcage and swallowed the lump in her throat. "What is it?" she practically whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder.

"It's Will. He's been shot, but don't worry, it's just a flesh wound. He's at the hospital now and he's asking for you. Can you come see him?"

She did her best to maintain her composure while driving, but the tears inevitably slipped out. How could she _not_ cry? Will had just been shot! She thought she could handle such a situation should it ever occur but this was different. Imaging such a fear and actually living through it was so incompatible, so clashing that she wondered how did she ever reconcile with the idea that she knew what it must be like. She knew what she was getting herself into when Will first asked her to be his girlfriend. A life as a detective's partner was never going to be easy. How many sleepless nights had she endured, tossing and turning as his side of the bed remained cold, the result of Will on some late-night bust? How many times had her heart almost died on her, getting a phone call while Will was still at work? How many times had she kissed him before he left for work, fretting if he was going to come home to her in the evening?

Her mother had tried to warn her. "Get out of this now before it's too late. You think I don't approve because he doesn't have money?" she had said, shaking her head. She reached for her daughter's hands. "Find someone else to love. You will not have it easy," she pleaded.

But Lisa never wanted it easy. She didn't ask to love Will, she just did and she couldn't help herself. No, she knew what she was getting herself into, she thought as she quickly brushed those tears away. But it still didn't make a damn difference.

She had thought about asking him to quit, or at the very least, transfer to a different department, a safer department. But how could she, knowing who he was? He came from a long line of police officers; being a detective was the only thing he knew, it was in his blood. How could she just take that away from him? No, the problem was not that he _wouldn't_ do it, but that he _would_ , and in time, she knew he would resent her for it.

So now, she would always just grit her teeth and bear with it. She would smile, and hug him, and kissed him goodbye every morning before he left the apartment, just hoping and praying, praying so very hard, that he would come home to her safe and sound.

Seeing him now, dressed in a plain hospital gown with his left arm in a sling and seated on a gurney, it took everything in her power not to simply burst into tears and collapse into his arms.

"Hey," she greeted even as her emotions betrayed her and her face started contorting with terror. She stood by the curtains, waiting for the nurse to give her the go-ahead to enter.

"Lisa!" He whipped off the arm sling and tossed it aside, wincing slightly at the quick jab of pain. He pulled Lisa towards him, not caring if the nurse allowed her being there, and hugged her tightly while using his good hand to rub her back. Will's heart ached as he heard her sob into his shoulder; she must have obviously been scared by the entire incident and he didn't blame her. Her life, as she told him, was utterly ordinary and safe before they got together. She didn't have any family members in dangerous occupations, her ex-boyfriends had always been bankers or librarians; completely dull jobs, and the closest she herself ever got to danger was jaywalking.

"Sssh, it's okay, it's okay. I'm all right," he said in a soothing tone, holding her closer to him even as his arm throbbed. The nurse, knowing that they probably needed the privacy, made her exit quietly, closing the flimsy curtains behind her.

Lisa's sobs slowly quietened and she pulled back slightly to wipe her face with the back of her hands, Will finding the gesture incredibly child-like and endearing. He too reached out to wipe away her tears with the pad of his thumb, gently shushing her at the same time.

"I still have to stay for an X-ray but we can go home after that," he said as he smiled at her, hoping that it would allay her fears. She sniffled a little and offered him a fragile smile of her own.

"Please don't do anything stupid like that again," she scolded him, but without the slightest hint of anger or scorn.

"I've just been shot in the line of duty and you think it's because of something stupid _I_ did?" he asked in a mock-furious tone. He pulled Lisa nearer once more to seat her on his lap, his body simply needing the feel of her on him, begging for closeness.

"Knowing you, it's _definitely_ something stupid you did." This time, her laughter was a little louder, but no less frail. This, it was true. Will had somehow managed to find himself involved in a robbery. He _had_ been shot because he made himself a distraction so that the police sniper could take a shot at the hostage-taker but he wasn't about to let Lisa on to that fact. As if he wanted to give her another scare.

She placed her head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic sounds of his heartbeat, simply grateful that he even _had_ a heartbeat. She snuggled closer, making sure she didn't put any weight on his injured arm. He wrapped his good arm around her waist, and they remained as such for a while, the two of them plainly savouring the sweet fact that Will was still alive.

When they finally arrived home, having picked Henry up from day care first, the boy immediately raced into his room, eager to open the new toy Will had brought him, a bright red fireman's truck. Will kissed Lisa on the cheek before following his son, hoping to spend some time with him. Henry still didn't understand much of Will's job, only that his daddy worked as a policeman who fought bad guys. Will explained that his injured arm happened in a fight with them and the boy became excited, eager for a story.

Lisa tossed the keys into a bowl and shut the door behind her. Running her fingers through her hair, she exhaled deeply. Today had been a stressful day and even though Will was home now, it only mitigated the anxiety minimally. All the way as she drove them home, he placed a hand on her thigh, periodically squeezing it. It wasn't that he was coming on to her, or that he had something else in mind; instead, she knew that this was his way of saying that he was _here_ , he was real and he wasn't going anywhere.

It was about an hour later when Will was finally able to leave Henry's room, the boy content with amusing himself for a while. Hearing that Lisa was in the shower, Will made his way back to their bedroom, the weariness of the day finally taking a toll on him. Thankfully, the hospital staff were kind enough to allow him a shower there; Will desperate to get rid of the blood for fear that it might scare Henry, and now, he was already dressed in one of his worn black shirt and a pair of slacks.

Getting into bed, he simply sat over the covers, his head leaning against the headboard as he meant to close his eyes for just a moment. He hadn't realized that he had fallen asleep, not until he felt their bed dip in places and opened his eyes. Lisa was climbing into bed too, smelling of her soap and body lotion.

Will reached out to pull her on top of him so that she was on her knees, straddling his lap. "You make me happy, you know that, right?" he asked as he looked into her eyes, seeing the amount of pain and anxiety she was always taxed with. He felt a great amount of guilt and wondered how was it that she still stood by him. How was she still able to tolerate his job and still come to him for comfort, and strength when she could so very easily just leave him and Henry?

"You make me worry too much," she replied as she kissed the tip of his nose, her hands cradling his face. Yet, there was only quiet acceptance in her voice. It took her a long time but she was finally ready to accept the fact that as long as Will came home safe and sound to her, she didn't care where his job took him. He took an oath to protect the city and to serve its people; it was only right that she did whatever she could to support him.

Being extremely cautious in not putting any undue pressure on Will's injury, she slid her body down a little lower to rest just above his hips. There was a hitch in his breath but before he could completely adjust to her, she began to run her hands up and down his chest. His body, so used to her touch yet still so longing for it, knew exactly what it wanted and responded accordingly.

"Marry me," Will blurted out before Lisa went further with her attention. It was not that he didn't want her affections, but that he would rather remain clear-headed as he proposed.

Her hands remained unmoving on top of his chest, growing warmer and warmer until he could feel the slight heat through the thin fabric. She eyed him critically, her lips pursed tightly. "Why do you always do this in bed?" She sounded almost exasperated.

"I'm serious!" Will insisted as he laid his one good hand over hers. "I know I do stupid things all the time, but this, _this_ isn't one of them. I am nothing without you, Lisa, I am _nothing_." His eyes started to water as he recounted the day. "You know what I saw when I was shot?" She shook her head, her eyes also filling up with tears, and he continued. "I saw you and I saw that I still hadn't made you my wife and that hurt me. It hurt me more than the bullet and I thought I was going to die and Henry –"

Lisa cut him off by simply pressing her lips on his. Will could feel the coolness of the tears running down her face and he lifted his hand to wipe them away. She kissed him, softly, and as she sniffled a little, she pulled back.

"Ask me properly," she requested, a smile already tugging at the corners of her lips.

Will cleared his throat and sat a little more upright. He looked her straight in the eyes and took her hand. "Lisa Anne Kaid, will you marry me?"

"Yes," she replied, her heart pounding away with joy and happiness despite the tears running down her face. Once, they were tears of gloom but now, they were only tears of delight as Will wrapped his good arm around her waist and hugged her closer.

"'Bout damn time too," he grumbled half-heartedly into her ear as she laughed, breathing in her scent and feeling the warmth of her body.

Their world was finally so very complete.


	10. Assignment 9: Where It Began

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 9 title: Where It Began
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Twilight
> 
> Pairing: Emmett/Rosalie, canon
> 
> Assignment notes: Take the lessons from above and write a scene between two people in an established relationship. The scene should be driven by the dialogue – make the dialogue believable and necessary. We should have an understanding of who your characters are through this scene.
> 
> Author's notes: I definitely took a different interpretation of this week's lesson. I've always felt that dialogue between Rosalie and Emmett must have been meaningful given her past as a rape survivor and later transition into a woman in a deeply committed and loving relationship. As a warning, there isn't any smut in this piece (wholly inappropriate for my story, I feel) so if you don't want to read it, I won't hold it against you.

_She didn't welcome his presence. He had come, unbidden, into her room and though she could have simply chased him out, she couldn't care less anymore. Everything about her life, about her existence, no longer made sense to her. In the beginning, there was hate, and she was perfectly comfortable with that sentiment. In her dying moments, she had embraced the loathing and the revulsion, and it protected her from everything else. It fuelled her rage and made it possible for her to exact revenge._

_But now, she could no longer make sense of her emotions. She had hated this existence so much, so much that she was desperate for a way to end it. But could she have hated it as much as she thought she did if she willingly brought someone else into it too?_

" _You should come and see him. He's asking for you, he's asking for his creator." Again, he spoke as he went to sit on her bed. Her lips curled in spite as she continued sitting by her dresser, brushing her hair._

" _Carlisle is his creator," she said dismissively._

" _He says he wants to see 'the blond angel'." Edward added in inverted air quotes and that was the last straw for Rosalie. Though she could no longer cry, she felt her body still go through the motions of the action, her eyes squinting as if they were welling up with tears, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Her anger boiled through her veins and the venom in her almost became heated, if it were possible; her fury finally coming to a head as she threw her hair brush in Edward's direction._

_She missed and it smashed against the wall, breaking into huge, chunky pieces._

" _You're having fun with this, aren't you? You enjoy seeing me in pain!" She seethed at his behaviour; lashing out for whatever trivial reasons her ill temper had managed to throw together. Despite outliving her newborn phrase, Rosalie was still prone to sudden and violent outbursts of anger, as if she were never going to be able to have a tighter rein on her emotions. She always did have a complicated relationship with Edward; how did one interact with the man she was made for but did not want? It became clear to Rosalie that Carlisle had intended for her to be Edward's mate but when the boy himself rejected her, she always harboured a deep-seeded resentment towards him. She felt that he thought too highly of himself; too morally upright for her vindictive and malicious thoughts and so, they would throw jibes at each other and tease each other mercilessly._

_She saw Edward's jaw tighten and his eyes hardened, his emotions now closed off. But then again, it never worked the other way around; she hated how he could read her mind; it felt like a final insult in this new existence that she was never going to have true privacy, not when Edward was around at any rate._

" _Regardless of what you may think of me," his tone of voice now numb where it had been pleading earlier. "Even you of all people should know that I don't delight in suffering, especially not yours." Edward stood up and stalked out of her room, now in a rage of his own; the door reverberating on its hinges as he slammed it on his way out._

_She should feel bad for offending Edward; of course she knew that he didn't delight in anyone's suffering, hers least of all. It was he who offered to execute Royce and his friends himself, not wanting her to have any blood on her hands but when he was unable to convince her, he instead helped her exact revenge on her human tormentors. He, of all people, knew of her private pain, the private hell she endured each and every day, and she knew better than to suggest that he got a thrill out of her trauma._

_But this hell, this new hell she now had to live through. How could she ever face the man she rescued? She had been impulsive and completely reckless, and she made an innocent man undergo more than four days of agony. How could she have brought someone into an existence she could barely tolerate herself?_

* * *

It was difficult to imagine, seeing them the way they were now, that there was ever a time when Rosalie could not stand to be in Emmett's presence. She lazed in a rocking chair on the porch, perfectly content with gazing at Emmett as he stood in the bright Saturday afternoon sun, chopping wood. She watched as his muscles rippled with each movement, how his biceps bulged and contracted as he swung the axe over his head and it came down, splintering each block of wood as if it were nothing. She remained both awed and nervous at his unconcealed show of strength. The last time a man had exerted his strength over her, it did not end well, not for either of them.

"I think you missed one over there," she joked as she pointed to the substantial pile of wood that now lay beside him. She couldn't understand why he would want to perform such a mundane task. As vampires, they no longer required heat and even the strenuous task of chopping wood was now too simple a task for them. But Emmett explained the job as more of a habit than anything else. "If I were human, this would be what I did and I don't want to stop doing it, just because I'm not a human anymore," he had explained, shrugging as if the thought of _not_ chopping up wood had never crossed his mind.

"You do it then, if you're so picky!" he retorted but there was a lightness in his voice. He liked the banter they now engaged in, a far cry of the days when he had just awoken to his new life. Back then, they weren't even friends, or acquaintances, or even creator and progeny, for Rosalie refused to acknowledge the fact that she had created him. But now, he wasn't sure what they were now, but he liked it, at least he _felt_ he did. They would joke, yes, and tease and sometimes even flirt, so that made them friends, but he would like something more. But every time he tried to initiate a hug or a kiss, Rosalie would stiffen and immediately take her leave. He tried asking Edward about it once, when Rosalie wouldn't answer her door despite his repeated knocks and apologises, but his brother wouldn't say anything, only that it was Rosalie's secret to divulge.

"I hate the sun. You know that." For all of the beauty her change had brought out in her, the one element she found hard to bear was the fact that her skin now glistered in the sunlight. She hated it for it only served as a reminder of her inhumanity, of her inability to walk down the street in bright sunlight without revealing her true nature.

"Yeah, but I think you look gorgeous!" Emmett winked and Rosalie had a good mind to simply get off the rocking chair and marched over to smack him, in jest, and she did. She stepped off the porch, and for once, ignoring the glaring beams her skin was casting, she strutted over to him, smacking his shoulder rather gracelessly. Having anticipated her actions, Emmett had cast aside his axe and simply laughed when her hand made contact with his body. Given that he was still relatively young in his new life, and the strength he possessed in his human life, the blow barely registered.

Instead, he only laughed rambunctiously when Rosalie tried smacking him harder. "Is that all you got?" he goaded her as he tried to get a raise out of her. She pushed her bottom lip forward in a faux pout and hoping that she had the element of surprise on her side, she did her best in mustering all her strength into one good blow against his abdomen.

But Emmett was braced for her move; the rough-and-tumble play between his siblings and himself had prepared him well, and so he reached out to grab one of her wrists. But as he did, an errant thought ran through his mind, an occurrence made frequent from his previous womanizing ways and he acted upon it, kissing Rosalie's lips both quickly and lightly.

The moment Emmett's lips touched hers, Rosalie panicked. If her heart could still beat, she was sure it would have been hammering away. She had reeled from the pressure of his grip on her wrist and his lips only served to terrorize her further. She reached up and slapped him, hard, across the cheek and he immediately let go off her.

Though breathing was no longer required, Rosalie's chest heaved as she took in deep gulps of air, her mind and body still processing the shock. Her bottom lip quivered as her eyes blinked rapidly, the venom seeming to work as tears. As she gaped at Emmett, who only had confusion and remorse upon his face, it was too much for her to bear. Turning upon her heels, she ran back into the house at her vampire speed, startling an Esme who was just about to step out for some gardening, and leaving Emmett in the blazing sun feeling rather cold all of a sudden.

* * *

It had been hours since their ugly confrontation but Rosalie could still feel the tremor in her hands, the quavering of her body. Curled up in a foetal position on her bed, she had done her best to bring it under her control and she knew it wasn't Emmett's fault. After all, he hadn't known, but while she had done her best to forget her attack, it seemed like her mind or her body never would. Images of her attack, of her last moments as a human, terrified, broken and alone, flashed in her mind in rapid succession and she tried to push them away.

In that moment, she hated Emmett. She hated him for dredging up her past. She wished she had hit him harder. He had no right, no right _at all_ to force himself on her like that. She didn't care what kind of a human he had been or how he had been raised, she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to hurt him like how she hurt Royce and his pitiful revolting friends. She wanted to break him, like how they broke her.

But just as fleeting as her anger had manifested, it receded, like a dam having run out of fierce, flooding water. She would seek Emmett out; while he was at fault, she bore responsibility too. She knew that he had the right to know why she was cold to him, why she refused his advances because they only acted to evoke a memory she wanted no part in remembering.

Regaining her composure and straightening her clothes, she took a deep cleansing breath and stood up from bed. She then realized how quiet the house was; it was usually the hour when Edward would play the piano, music that was at times splendid and other times haunting and the notes would fill the air like a breeze through a room.

Opening her door, the flapping of paper caught her eye. A note had been stuck onto her door and as she moved to detach it, she saw that it was in Esme's hand. She wrote that Carlisle, Edward and herself were going on an extended hunt, and that she hoped Rosalie wouldn't mind entertaining herself for the evening. Yet the subtext was clear: Emmett was left home, all the better to resolve the clash between them.

 _Calm down. This was what you wanted, wasn't it?_ Rosalie thought to herself. Taking another breath to fortify herself, she walked down the hallway and stairs in search of Emmett. Usually, he would be an easy target to seek out, given his penchant for projecting his voice or just his awkward, boisterous personality, but tonight was different. He was quiet and reserved and this left Rosalie unsettled more than anything else. _It was always the quiet ones_ , she thought.

Rosalie certainly was taken aback when her instincts led her to the second-floor balcony. It had always been a place where she could always clear her mind and gathered her thoughts and she supposed that could be where Emmett was. The sight before her, however, unquestionably astonished her. The entire balcony was bathed in soft candlelight, little flickering glows against the night velvety sky. She simply stared in wonder, rare was such perfect beauty and elegance, as Emmett slowly came into view.

Upon seeing her, Emmett's senses sparked alive. He was deeply regretful of his earlier actions and had pondered hard over how best to redeem himself. He knew he had overstepped his boundaries; Edward had made sure of that, but if Rosalie was never going to speak to him again, he had to be certain that she knew. He saw her eyes glaze over the candlelight and with her face only dimly illuminated; the sight of her would have stolen his breath, had he any left. Her mouth slightly parted in awe, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of hundreds of candles irradiating their faces and the balcony. He hadn't known why he used the candles, only that he thought they would make a good impression on her and evidently, they had.

He cleared his throat and it was then that Rosalie's attention shifted to him. She saw that he had taken some time to change out of his lumberjack-esque outfit and into a clean shirt and a pair of trousers. He was obviously nervous as he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in places. She opened her mouth to speak but he held out a hand, indicating his desire to go first.

"What I did was wrong," he began, his tone full of apology and remorse. "I disrespected you, knowing that you objected to my prior advances. I see that I have upset you, again, and I'm sorry. Truly, this time I am." Emmett bowed slightly before straightening himself, rueful of the fact that he had never really taken her rejections to heart until this afternoon when she physically fought back with a slap. "From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry for the distress I caused you." He bowed once more, deeply and solemnly, as if he were unable to look her in the eye anymore.

In a vindictive moment, Rosalie reckoned that Emmett must have sought Edward out for advice because he was never this intelligent or eloquent before, or had spoken this much at any one time. She thought that he couldn't possibly have come up with such a speech himself. But the moment passed and in its place was a quiet sense of gratitude.

Rosalie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you," she said softly.

Emmett merely nodded and moved to leave her alone when she spoke up again. " _He_ never said he was sorry to me. He only laughed in my face." The words came out in a rush, before she could even stop herself. Emmett was slightly startled by her announcement but nonetheless, gestured for her to take a seat. Very tentatively, he moved to join her.

"Who was it? This man who didn't apologize?" he asked, his gaze locking with Rosalie's as he watched sadness envelope her features. She frowned and her face grew pale, though he supposed it was a trick of the light. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt; at putting Rosalie through trauma, when all he ever wanted was for her to like him back.

Seeing Emmett, so willing to listen to her, and she so desperate to finally move on from her past, she told him her story, a story that did not have a happy ending. She spoke of her human family, and of Royce, the loving one who concealed the monster inside well. She spoke of her dream wedding and of the life she wanted to have. When she got to her attack and allude to her aggressors, she grew scared even though she knew they could never hurt her again. But Emmett only held her hand tighter, coaxing her with soft murmurs of encouragement and support.

In the midst of recounting her history, inexplicable thoughts ran through her mind. She thought about simply propositioning Emmett. She wanted to erase the memory of Royce and she knew Emmett liked her anyway but when clarity came over her, she knew it was wrong. She still couldn't trust Emmett; she thought she was ready to move past her experiences, but the afternoon only proved to her that she wasn't.

But she was all right with it. What happened to her wasn't her fault but it _did_ happen and she survived it. She would live with it but she wouldn't be defined by it. As Emmett rubbed small circles on the back of her hand, nodding as she finished her tale, she found that perhaps she might be able to have a happy ending after all.

* * *

A few years later, when the Cullen family has to move so as not to raise suspicion on their youth, no one says anything when Rosalie moves her things into Emmett's new room or when they start holding hands.


	11. Assignment 10: Entangled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment 10 title: Entangled
> 
> By thalia-csiny / philyra91
> 
> Fandom: Merlin
> 
> Pairing: Gwaine/Morgana, modern AU
> 
> Assignment notes: Write an orgasm scene, and if you'd like an extra challenge, do it in 500 words or less
> 
> Author's notes: Decided to end the semester with a BANG! Hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> Morgana Pendragon was having a bad week; no, make that a bad month. So when she saw a stranger in a pub, she decided to throw caution to the wind and bought him a drink. Could this turn out to be the best night of her life?

He still smelled of smoke and lager but all that only dimly registered in her mind for she was far too aware of his fingers doing remarkably wicked things to her. He was pressed up against her, wedging her between himself and a panel in the elevator with his rough hands grazing soft skin that was shivering under his touch. His stubble rubbed her cheek not unpleasantly and she found the contact to be rather titillating. Her hands wrapped themselves around his neck as she pulled him closer, their kiss deepening and intensifying until the already narrow space between them was no more.

If anyone were to tell Morgana Pendragon that when she decided to go to a pub to blow off some steam, she'd end up having a one-night stand, she would have laughed in their faces. But the months of countless meetings, hearings, lawsuits and seemingly constant bickering within her family was driving her insane. All she wanted was a night out to clear her head, to forget everything and everyone and he looked like someone who could make that happen.

Was it her fault that she found the man sitting the farthest away from the counter to be quite attractive, what with his chin-length hair and dark eyes? Was it her fault that he kept staring at her as well, his gaze invoking equal parts of flattery and discomfort? He probably was staring at her because of who she was, and what was said about her in the papers, but she didn't care. As long as he didn't outright acknowledge her family background, she wasn't going to be picky.

There was a certain rugged charm about him, almost a sort of danger, and she was drawn to it, him being so different from the pretty boys she was used to dating. She couldn't help herself but when he didn't offer to buy her a drink, she took the initiative and signaled to the bartender that she would like to buy the stranger another round of whatever he was already having.

When a fresh pint of lager came his way, Gwaine knew that it had to be the lady's doing. He had done his best to maintain his distance, deciding in his mind that buying her a drink would probably send the wrong signal. He liked her, of course, but there was something about her, something that made him ponder his moves a little. He found her face familiar, but couldn't quite place her.

He knew, from experience, that her coy smile, the way she tucked her hair back behind her ear, even the way she was looking at him over her shoulder; they were all signs that she was interested in him. He was equally intrigued with her, but he had just knocked off from a bad day at work and he wasn't really sure if a one-night-stand was going to be the best idea. Sure, two months ago, hell, even a week ago, he would have scoffed and to prove his point, he would have simply walked into any pub and picked out a girl. But then his father got sick, and he promised himself that he wasn't going to waste his life away anymore. Yet, this lady five seats away from him, who was so bold in her approach, he felt somehow drawn to her.

Gwaine took a drink from the fresh pint and immediately, made a decision. He got up from his seat and making his way to her, he watched as she suddenly turned her back toward him, her fingers gently tracing her collarbone. Perhaps she thought it flirtatious; perhaps it was even a mechanism to cope with her nervousness. Regardless, he was already behind her as he whispered into her ear, "Wanna get out of here?"

Now, she found it both exhilarating and a little intimidating that the both of them were heading up to the hotel room they had just checked into. She had to admit; his Irish accent was pretty much what sealed the deal for her. It was so novel, so exotic that it felt like she tasted some forbidden fruit previously unknown to her.

Gwaine had already managed to pop the first two buttons of her blouse, revealing one of the most gorgeous cleavages he had even seen. He swallowed the lump in his throat; this was happening, this was real. Oh, fuck his promise. He'd stop wasting his life from tomorrow onwards.

Her fair skin was in deep contrast from his tanned one, but it was like they fitted perfectly together, as his hand wrapped itself gently around her neck. Her body curved so beautifully against his, as if they were meant to connect so well together. He had a good mind to simply slip his hand underneath her blouse and be done with it when the elevator door opened with a "ding" and they sprung, somewhat reluctantly, apart with Morgana redressing herself, in case of disapproving eyes.

It was Morgana's idea to come here, a relatively upmarket hotel with crystal chandeliers and weird abstract paintings. Going back to either of their places was out of the question, and going to a seedy B&B was just too dangerous. She didn't care if it looked like she was flaunting her wealth in front of him, or that she was making herself an easy target for someone who could well turn out to be a thief. If she was going to have a good time, she was damn well going to have a bloody good time.

When they finally reached their room, it took Gwaine much longer than necessary to unlock the door; but then again, Morgana was a distraction he'd never had to deal with before. She stood pressed against his back with her arms wrapped around his middle and as if the fact her breasts were crashed against him wasn't enough to drive him crazy, she was busily planting small kisses against his shoulder blade, letting her fingers work their way under his shirt. She was probably doing it to get back at him for the elevator business, either that or alcohol had only served to fuel her coquettish nature. The key was an ordinary card key, slide to unlock, but given the amount of alcohol he had consumed earlier plus Morgana, it was no wonder the key kept missing the slot.

"Would you stop doing that for 5 seconds?" he asked through clenched teeth, trying again to slide the key into the slot and failing miserably.

"Oooh, fingers not working too well?" She grinned playfully, inching her fingers higher under his shirt. Gwaine pressed his forehead against the cool wood, a welcomed relief for his heated body. In the half hour he had known this woman, this _infuriating_ woman, she had shown a penchant for testing the boundaries of his control – or in the present situation – his concentration.

"I suppose you could do better then?" he challenged dubiously.

"Let's find out, shall we?" she quipped, taking the key from his limp fingers. Gwaine moved back a little, letting her small body slide between his and the door. He smiled, impressed with her competitive spirit. Morgana pressed back into him, taking the space she needed to be comfortable. She felt his hands move to her hips, keeping her where she was. Their game had begun.

"Do your worst," she taunted him. Gwaine leaned into her, nuzzling her neck with the rough hairs of his five o'clock shadow leaving her skin tingling. He nibbled his way up to her ear, his hips pressing into hers rhythmically, mimicking the act he was dying to perform with her once they were safely inside their room. His fingers lightly trailed up her hips and sneaked under her blouse, the sensation of them leaving her breathless. He felt her turn in his arms and backed away with him right through the open door.

"How the-" he began to ask just as she rose on tiptoes and brought his head down for a long heated kiss. She probably wasn't as tipsy as he was. He kicked the door close behind him, plunging them both to near-darkness, and pulled her towards him, his back pressing into the door. Morgana smiled as she tugged on his shirt, and then pulled it over his head in one swift movement. She kissed his chest, her lips and tongue massaging the flesh, her teeth giving him small nips that made him shudder as she pressed her hand against his groin and moved it up and down. His hips moved, and when she glanced up at him, she could see his eyes watching her with avid hunger. _God, she was good,_ he thought as her mouth closed around his nipple and she sucked hard as her fingers curved around his bulge, as much as she was able to through the fabric of his pants. Gwaine gasped and his hips thrust forward involuntarily, a low growl emitting from his throat. She pulled his nipple with her teeth, letting it go as he gasped and his back arched.

She felt powerful, something she hadn't felt in a while. This power, the power she had just established over him gave her a rush like she had never known before. Slowly, she sank down in front of him, kissing down his stomach, following the trail of dark hairs that lead and disappeared behind his pants. He was ripped, there was no doubt about it, and he clearly enjoyed the attention she was giving his six-pack abs. Morgana licked along the top of his pants as her hands went to his belt buckle. She was about to unfasten it when she felt his hands over hers.

"You do that, and I won't last for two seconds," Gwaine pleaded, his eyes burning right through her.

Morgana sulked, but only a little, yet nevertheless nodded. He pulled her to her full height, and when she was standing again, he caught her chin in his hand and brushed her soft red lips gently with the pad of his thumb, nothing the minute trembling in her bottom lip. In that moment, she looked so delicate to him, so exquisite that it almost pained him to gaze upon her.

His fingers went to pop the buttons of her blouse again, and he watched with satisfaction at the blooming flush across her chest, a sure sign of her arousal. He could see that she was eager, eager for everything, his touch, his lips, his everything, yet he wanted to prolong their pleasure. So he took hold of her hands and led her towards the bed, moving all clothing but her undergarments. He took his time and most impressively, she noted, he took them off with his teeth. She bristled slightly at the contact between her skin and his stubble but she found it to be most stimulating. Gwaine gently pushed her down to the bed, and started with kissing her neck. He began playing with her breasts, first by releasing them from her bra and then opening his lips to draw a breast towards him. He sucked the rosy tip between his teeth and deep into his mouth. Morgana could actually feel his tongue lashing at it as he sucked it deep, and she moaned. _God, I'm so ready,_ she thought. In the meantime, his hands roamed all over the parts of her he could reach, her hips, her stomach, and her panty-clad ass. He dug his fingers in, and squeezed hard, almost leaving imprints as he continued to tease her breast with his mouth.

"Keep going," her voice was hoarse. Demanding. Gwaine liked that and released her breast, moving down so that he smiled against the skin just beneath her breastbone. Morgana couldn't stop her back from arching as he began travelling downward, and when she realized when he was heading from the way he was tugging down her panties, her breath got caught in her throat.

Gwaine's hands were spreading her lithe thighs and he rubbed his cheek on the side of her right thigh, delighting in the slight way her body quivered. She did cry out with stunned pleasure as his tongue took a long swipe up her center, his hands stroking her thighs. She trembled with enjoyment as his tongue explored her more thoroughly and intimately. Her hips pressed into him a little more fervently as her hands went to encircle his head, holding him in place. She was so turned on, so ready and when he stiffened his tongue and pressed into her, she damn near came on the spot.

"Fuck!" she gasped as his tongue slid out and a finger slid in, pressing along the soft interior of her body, much longer and stiffer than his tongue had been. Her hips lifted up and she shuddered as he pressed against her g-spot. Gwaine began teasing her sensitive clit with his tongue as his finger worked in and out of her. He was savouring this, relishing every moment of this stranger's gratification. When he pressed another finger into her, Morgana shuddered as his tongue flashed across her clit, his fingers stretching her. She could almost feel the growing weight of blood in her veins as it rushed to swell, well, everything. Her muscles tightened even more on his fingers as she started to climax and he quickly took her into his mouth and bit down gently, the pressure of it sending more waves of absolute rapture through her.

When her orgasm started to subside, Morgana realized that her hands were on a stranger's head, her fingers wrapped in his hair, as she pushed him firmly into her. _My, I've never been so bold_ , she thought. When Gwaine emerged, lips still a little glossy; she exhaled deeply, the erotic sight turning her on like nothing ever did.

They were sticky now, both from sweat and the evidence of their earlier activities, but they were more than ready for each other. Gwaine, having taken off his pants earlier, slowly moved up her body in a slow, relaxed manner, as if he wasn't aware that he had given Morgana the best orgasm she had ever experienced. As he supported himself over her, the only light in the room streaming in from the window, he saw how beautiful she was. Sweat had plastered loose tendrils of hair to the side of her face and Gwaine brushed them all aside, his face coming down to kiss her again. This time, it was a particularly unhurried kiss but it was more like a slow burn, steadily mounting into a proper blaze.

"Uh, wait, shit. Protection." He broke off their kiss and started to move away when Morgana stopped him with a touch to his shoulder.

"It's okay, I'm on the pill." It was a pretty dangerous thing for her to say; after all, the pill didn't prevent the spread of infections or diseases but she had long started on this high-risk path when she picked up a stranger at a pub. Morgana was somewhat relieved when he began to assure that he was healthy. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she hoped he wasn't lying.

Gwaine took hold of her waist and flipped them both, so that she was on top now. He wasn't selective when it came to positions but he knew her being on top would definitely help her climax again. His need was fast intensifying, a tight wave of lust surging over him. As he settled comfortably down on the bed, she quickly threw one of her legs over to straddle him. Watching her position herself, and seeing her petite hands on his chest, he was struck by how almost elfin she was compared to him, his frame easily dwarfing hers.

Morgana slid down with languid movements, slowly rubbing herself against him. They both moaned, the feeling so fantastic that it took all of Gwaine not to simply hold her down. She circled her hips around and quite suddenly, she pressed down, gasping as she did so. He cursed at the exact same moment, his hands going to her hips as he gripped the firm skin. Without hurrying and using his chest for leverage, she worked up and down so that he entered her just a little more each time. As she moved lower and lower, he started thrusting up to meet her and she would pull away, eliciting exasperated moans and growls from him.

Finally, he grabbed her not too roughly and forced her body down as he thrust upwards, and the both of them called out in heated moans as he filled her up completely. "Fuck," he cursed as she rode the swing of his hips, delighting in the motion it produced. She purposefully squeezed her muscles and let out a squeak of delight when the both of them felt their bodies respond. Gwaine drew in ragged breaths; he was so close; she had to be too. They moved faster and harder against each other and when one of Gwaine's hands went to the point where her thighs met and rubbed against her, Morgana lost control of her hands as she collapsed onto him, screaming her climax with her fists clenched in the sheets beside Gwaine. Beneath her, his bucking became stronger, wilder as he too reached his own culmination.

They laid like this for several long moments as they caught their breaths, their bodies coming down from their high of writhing and quivering. Gwaine was the first to recover as he rubbed her back soothingly, her fists slowly loosening from the sheets. Morgana looked up with her chin on his chest and in that one moment, in that one perfect moment, they were tender in the manner that only long-time lovers could be.

They awoke the next morning, feeling grimy and a little grossed out from the mess they had created. Morgana was the first to rise, unexpectedly shy as she gathered the sheets to cover her modesty. But her back was still exposed and it was there where Gwaine traced lazy patterns, feeling her shiver under the touch of his calloused hands.

"Didn't catch your name last night, love," he greeted, a cheeky grin spreading across his features. He marvelled at how her hair could look the way it did, tousled but still silky.

"Morgana Pendragon," she replied, looking over her bare shoulder as she gazed upon his reclining form, the sheet barely covering his modesty or the V of his hips. Her heart lunged as her mind remembered all the wicked things they did the night before, grinning like a Cheshire cat herself.

Morgana. Morgana Pendragon. Shit, _the_ Morgana Pendragon. The one who's been in all the papers for going to court for control of her father's company? Gwaine didn't know much of the details, only that she was trying to oust her half brother as head of the corporation. Apparently he was a sod or something.

Morgana watched as familiarization dawned on her companion's face and felt her own smile fade. Could the best night of her life also be her biggest mistake?


End file.
